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XLM  xanlversitiP  of  lloronto  Xibrari? 

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XEbe  late  /IDaurtce  Ibutton, 

/Ilb.H.,  XX.D. 

Iprtncipal  of  'dniversits  College 

190M928 


THE    POETICAL   WORKS 


OF 


ROBERT    BROWNING, 

M.A., 

MONOKARV    FHLIXIIV    OF   BAI.I.tOL   COI.LBGE,    OXFOIiD. 


VOL.   VI. 


IN  A  BALCONY— 
DRAMATIS    PERSON.^,. 


-i-V 


LONDON: 

SMITH,   ELDER,   &  CO.,    15  WATERLOO    PLACE. 

1882. 


CONTENTS. 


IN  A  BALCONY  i 

DRAMATIS  PERSONiE 39 


IN     A     BALCONY. 

Bagni  di  Lucca.  1853. 


VOL.    VI. 


IN    A     BALCONY. 


Constance  and  Norbert. 


Nor.  Now ! 

Con.  Not  now ! 

JVor.  Give  me  them  again,  those  hands — 

Put  them  upon  my  forehead,  how  it  throbs  ! 
Press  them  before  my  eyes,  the  fire  comes  through  ! 
You  cruellest,  you  dearest  in  the  world. 
Let  me  !     The  Queen  must  grant  whate'er  I  ask — 
How  can  I  gain  you  and  not  ask  the  Queen  ? 
There  she  stays  waiting  for  me,  here  stand  you ; 
Some  time  or  other  this  was  to  be  asked  ; 
Now  is  the  one  time — what  I  ask,  I  gain  : 
Let  me  ask  now,  Love  ! 

Con.  Do,  and  ruin  us  ! 

Nor.  Let  it  be  now,  Love  !     All  my  soul  breaks  forth. 
How  I  do  love  you  !     Give  my  love  its  way  ! 
A.  man  can  have  but  one  life  and  one  death, 
3ne  heaven,  one  hell.     Let  me  fulfil  my  fate — 
Srant  me  my  heaven  now  !     Let  me  know  you  mine, 
Prove  you  mine,  write  my  name  upon  your  brow, 


4  IN    A   BALCONY. 

Hold  you  and  have  you,  and  then  die  away, 
If  God  please,  with  completion  in  my  soul ! 

Con.  I  am  not  yours  then  ?     How  content  this  man  ! 
I  am  not  his — who  change  into  himself, 
Have  passed  into  his  heart  and  beat  its  beats, 
Who  give  my  hands  to  him,  my  eyes,  my  hair, 
Give  all  that  was  of  me  away  to  him — 
So  well,  that  now,  my  spirit  turned  his  own, 
Takes  part  with  him  against  the  woman  here, 
Bids  him  not  stumble  at  so  mere  a  straw 
As  caring  that  the  world  be  cognisant 
How  he  loves  her  and  how  she  worships  him. 
You  have  this  woman,  not  as  yet  that  world. 
Go  on,  I  bid,  nor  stop  to  care  for  me 
By  saving  what  I  cease  to  cqre  about. 
The  courtly  name  and  pride  of  circumstance — 
The  name  you  '11  pick  up  and  be  cumbered  with 
Just  for  the  poor  parade's  sake,  nothing  more ; 
Just  that  the  world  may  slip  from  under  you — 
Just  that  the  world  may  cry  "  So  much  for  him — 
"  The  man  predestined  to  the  heap  of  crowns : 
"  There  goes  his  chance  of  winning  one,  at  least ! 

Nor.  The  world  ! 

Con.  You  love  it !     Love  me  quite  as  well, 

And  see  if  I  shall  pray  for  this  in  vain  ! 
Why  must  you  ponder  what  it  knows  or  thinks  ? 

Nor.  You  pray  for — what,  in  vain  ? 

Con.  Oh  my  heart's  heart, 

How  I  do  love  you,  Norbert !     That  is  right : 


[N    A    BALCONY.  5 

But  listen,  or  I  take  my  hands  away  ! 
You  say,  "  let  it  be  now : "  you  would  go  now 
And  tell  the  Queen,  perhaps  six  steps  from  us. 
You  love  me — so  you  do,  thank  God  ! 

Nor.  Thank  God  ! 

Con.  Yes,  Norbert, — but    you    fain  would    tell    your 

love, 
And,  what  succeeds  the  telling,  ask  of  her 
My  hand.     Now  take  this  rose  and  look  at  it, 
Listening  to  me.     You  are  the  minister. 
The  Queen's  first  favourite,  nor  without  a  cause. 
To-night  completes  your  wonderful  year's-work 
(This  palace-feast  is  held  to  celebrate) 
Made  memorable  by  her  life's  success, 
The  junction  of  two  crowns,  on  her  sole  head, 
Her  house  had  only  dreamed  of  anciently  : 
That  this  mere  dream  is  grown  a  stable  truth. 
To-night's  feast  makes  authentic.     Whose  the  praise  ? 
Whose  genius,  patience,  energy,  achieved 
What  turned  the  many  heads  and  broke  the  hearts? 
You  are  the  fate,  your  minute's  in  the  heaven. 
Next   comes   the    Queen's    turn.       "  Name   your    own 

reward  ! " 
With  leave  to  clench  the  past,  chain  the  to-come, 
Put  out  an  arm  and  touch  and  take  the  sun 
And  fix  it  ever  full-faced  on  your  earth, 
Possess  yourself  supremely  of  her  life, — 
You  choose  the  single  thing  she  will  not  grant ; 
Nay,  very  declaration  of  which  choice 


6  IN    A   BALCONY. 

Will  turn  the  scale  and  neutralize  your  work : 

At  best  sne  will  forgive  you,  if  she  can. 

You  think  1  '11  let  you  choose — her  cousin's  hand  ? 

Nor.  Wait.     First,  do  you  retain  your  old  belief 
The  Queen  is  generous, — nay,  is  just? 

Con.  There,  triere  t 

So  men  make  women  love  them,  while  they  know 
No  more  of  women's  hearts  than  .  .  .  look  you  here, 
You  that  are  just  and  generous  beside. 
Make  it  your  own  case  !     For  example  now, 
I  '11  say — I  let  you  kiss  nie,  hold  my  hands — 
AVhy  ?  do  you  know  why  ?  I  '11  instruct  you,  then — 
The  kiss,  because  you  have  a  name  at  court. 
This  hand  and  this,  that  you  may  shut  in  each 
A  jewel,  if  you  please  to  pick  up  such. 
That 's  horrible  ?     Apply  it  to  the  Queen — 
Suppose  I  am  the  Queen  to  whom  you  speak. 
"  I  was  a  nameless  man  ;  you  needed  me  : 
•'  Why  did  I  proffer  you  my  aid  ?  there  stood 
"  A  certain  pretty  cousin  at  your  side. 
"Why  did  I  make  such  common  cause  with  you? 
"  Access  to  her  had  not  been  easy  else. 
"  You  give  my  labours  here  abundant  praise  ? 
"  'Faith,  labour,  which  she  overlooked,  grew  play. 
"  How  shall  your  gratitude  discharge  itself  ? 
"  Give  me  her  hand  ! " 

Nor.  And  still  I  urge  the  same. 

Is  the  Queen  just  ?  just — generous  or  no  ! 

Con.  Yes,  just.     You  love  a  rose  ;  no  harm  in  that 


IN   A    BALCONY. 

But  was  it  for  the  rose's  sake  or  mine 

You  put  it  in  your  bosom  ?  mine,  you  said — 

Then,  mine  you  still  must  say  or  else  be  false. 

You  told  the  Queen  you  served  her  for  herself ; 

If  so,  to  serve  her  was  to  serve  yourself. 

She  thinks,  for  all  your  unbelieving  face  ! 

I  know  her.   •  In  the  hall,  six  steps  from  us, 

One  sees  the  twenty  pictures  ;  there  's  a  life 

Better  than  life,  and  yet  no  life  at  all. 

Conceive  her  born  in  such  a  magic  dome, 

Pictures  all  round  her  !  why,  she  sees  the  world, 

Can  recognize  its  given  things  and  facts, 

The  fight  of  giants  or  the  feast  of  gods, 

Sages  in  senate,  beauties  at  the  bath, 

Chases  and  battles,  the  whole  earth's  display, 

Landscape  and  sea-piece,  down  to  flowers  and  fruit — 

And  who  shall  question  that  she  knows  them  all, 

In  better  semblance  than  the  things  outside  ? 

Yet  bring  into  the  silent  gallery 

Some  live  thing  to  contrast  in  breath  and  blood, 

Some  lion,  with  the  painted  lion  there — 

You  think  she  '11  understand  composedly  ? 

— Say,  "  that  's  his  fellow  in  the  hunting-piece 

"  Yonder,  I  've  turned  to  praise  a  hundred  times  ?  " 

Not  so.     Her  knowledge  of  our  actual  earth. 

Its  hopes  and  fears,  concerns  and  sympathies, 

Must  be  too  far,  too  mediate,  too  unreal. 

The  real  exists  for  us  outside,  not  her : 

How  should  it,  with  that  life  in  these  four  walls, 


8  IN   A   BALCONY. 

That  father  and  that  mother,  first  to  last 

No  father  and  no  mother — friends,  a  heap, 

Lovers,  no  lack — a  husband  in  due  time, 

And  every  one  of  them  alike  a  lie  ! 

Things  painted  by  a  Rubens  out  of  nought 

Into  what  kindness,  friendship,  love  should  be  ; 

All  better,  all  more  grandiose  than  life, 

Only  no  life  ;  mere  cloth  and  surface-paint, 

You  feel,  while  you  admire.     How  should  she  feel  ? 

Yet  now  that  she  has  stood  thus  fifty  years 

The  sole  spectator  in  that  gallery. 

You  think  to  bring  this  warm  real  struggling  love 

In  to  her  of  a  sudden,  and  suppose 

She  '11  keep  her  state  untroubled  ?    Here  's  the  truth— 

She  '11  apprehend  truth's  value  at  a  glance. 

Prefer  it  to  the  pictured  loyalty  ? 

You  only  have  to  say  "  so  men  are  made, 

"  For  this  they  act ;  the  thing  has  many  names, 

"  But  this  the  right  one  :  and  now.  Queen,  be  just !  " 

Your  life  slips  back  ;  you  lose  her  at  the  word  : 

You  do  not  even  for  amends  gain  me. 

He  will  not  understand  !  oh,  Norbert,  Norbert, 

Do  you  not  understand  ? 

Nor.  The  Queen  's  the  Queen, 

I  am  myself — no  picture,  but  alive 
In  every  nerve  and  every  muscle,  here 
At  the  palace-window  o'er  the  people's  street. 
As  she  in  the  gallery  where  the  pictures  glow : 
The  good  of  life  is  precious  to  us  both. 


IN   A   BALCONY. 

She  cannot  love  ;  what  do  I  want  with  rule? 

When  first  I  saw  your  face  a  year  ago 

I  knew  my  life's  good,  my  soul  heard  one  voice — 

"  The  woman  yonder,  there  's  no  use  of  life 

"  But  just  to  obtain  her !  heap  earth's  woes  in  one 

"  And  bear  them — make  a  pile  of  all  earth's  joys 

"  And  spurn  them,  as  they  help  or  help  not  this; 

"  Only,  obtain  her  ! '' — how  was  it  to  be  ? 

I  found  you  were  the  cousin  of  the  Queen  ; 

I  must  then  serve  the  Queen  to  get  to  you. 

No  other  way.     Suppose  there  had  been  one, 

And  I,  by  saying  prayers  to  some  white  star 

With  promise  of  my  body  and  my  soul, 

Might  gain  you, — should  I  pray  the  star  or  no  ? 

Instead,  there  was  the  Queen  to  serve  !  I  served, 

Helped,  did  what  other  servants  failed  to  do. 

Neither  she  sought  nor  I  declared  my  end. 

Her  good  is  hers,  my  recompense  be  mine, 

I  therefore  name  you  as  that  recompense. 

She  dreamed  that  such  a  thing  could  never  be  ? 

Let  her  wake  now.     She  thinks  there  was  more  cause 

In  love  of  power,  high  fame,  pure  loyalty  ? 

Perhaps  she  fancies  men  wear  out  their  lives 

Chasing  such  shades.     Then,  I  've  a  fancy  too  ; 

I  worked  because  I  want  you  with  my  soul : 

I  therefore  ask  your  hand.     Let  it  be  now  ! 

Con.  Had  I  not  loved  you  from  the  very  first, 
Were  I  not  yours,  could  we  not  steal  out  thus 
So  wickedly,  so  wildly,  and  so  well, 


lO  IN   A   BALCONY 

You  might  become  impatient.     What 's  conceived 

Of  us  without  here,  by  the  folks  within  ? 

Where  are  you  now  ?  immersed  in  cares  of  state — 

Where  am  I  now  ? — intent  on  festal  robes — 

We  two,  embracing  under  death's  spread  hand  ! 

What  was  this  thought  for,  what  that  scruple  of  yours 

Which  broke  the  council  up  ? — to  bring  about 

One  minute's  meeting  in  the  corridor ! 

And  then  the  sudden  sleights,  strange  secrecies, 

Complots  inscrutable,  deep  telegraphs, 

Long-planned  chance-meetings,  hazards  of  a  look, 

"  Does  she  know  ?  does  she  not  know  ?  saved  or  lost  ?  " 

A  year  of  this  compression's  ecstasy 

All  goes  for  nothing  !  you  would  give  this  up 

For  the  old  way,  the  open  way,  the  world's, 

His  way  who  beats,  and  his  who  sells  his  wife  ! 

What  tempts  you  ? — their  notorious  happiness, 

That  you  are  ashamed  of  ours  ? '   The  best  you  '11  gain 

Will  be — the  Queen  grants  all  that  you  require, 

Concedes  the  cousin,  rids  herself  of  you 

And  me  at  once,  and  gives  us  ample  leave 

To  live  like  our  five  hundred  happy  friends. 

The  world  will  show  us  with  officious  hand 

Our  chamber-entry  and  stand  sentinel, 

Where  we  so  oft  have  stolen  across  its  traps  ! 

Get  the  world's  warrant,  ring  the  falcons  feet, 

And  make  it  duty  to  be  bold  and  swift, 

Which  long  ago  was  nature.     Have  it  so  ! 

We  never  hawked  by  rights  till  flung  from  fist  ? 


IN   A    BALCONY.  IT 

Oh,  the  man's  thought !  no  woman's  such  a  fool. 

Nor.  Yes,  the  man's  thought  and  my  thought,  which  is 
more — 
One  made  to  love  you,  let  the  world  take  note  ! 
Have  I  done  worthy  work  ?  be  love's  the  praise, 
Though  hampered  by  restrictions,  barred  against 
By  set  forms,  blinded  by  forced  secrecies  ! 
Set  free  my  love,  and  see  what  love  can  do 
Shown  in  my  life — what  work  will  spring  from  that ! 
The  world  is  used  to  have  its  business  done 
On  other  grounds,  find  great  effects  produced 
For  power's  sake,  fame's  sake,  motives  in  men's  mouth. 
So,  good  :  but  let  my  low  ground  shame  their  high  ! 
Truth  is  the  strong  thing.     Let  man's  life  be  true  ! 
And  love  's  the  truth  of  mine.     Time  prove  the  rest ! 
I  choose  to  wear  you  stamped  all  over  me. 
Your  name  upon  my  forehead  and  my  breast, 
You,  from  the  sword's  blade  to  the  ribbon's  edge, 
That  men  may  see,  all  over,  you  in  me — 
That  pale  loves  may  die  out  of  their  pretence 
In  face  of  mine,  shames  thrown  on  love  fall  oft. 
Permit  this,  Constance  !     Love  has  been  so  long 
Subdued  in  me,  eating  me  through  and  through. 
That  now  't  is  all  of  me  and  must  have  way. 
Think  of  my  work,  that  chaos  of  intrigues. 
Those  hopes  and  fears,  surprises  and  delays. 
That  long  endeavour,  earnest,  patient,  slow. 
Trembling  at  last  to  its  assured  result — 
Then  think  of  this  revulsion  !     I  resume 


12  IN   A    BALCONY. 

Life  after  death,  (it  is  no  less  than  life, 

After  such  long  unlovely  labouring  days) 

And  liberate  to  beauty  life's  great  need    * 

O'  the  beautiful,  which,  while  it  prompted  work, 

Suppressed  itself  erewhile.     This  eve  's  the  time. 

This  eve  intense  with  yon  first  trembling  star 

We  seem  to  pant  and  reach  ;  scarce  aught  betweei 

The  earth  that  rises  and  the  heaven  that  bends ; 

All  nature  self-abandoned,  every  tree 

Flung  as  it  will,  pursuing  its  own  thoughts 

And  fixed  so,  every  flower  and  every  weed. 

No  pride,  no  shame,  no  victory,  no  defeat ; 

All  under  God,  each  measured  by  itself. 

These  statues  round  us  stand  abrupt,  distinct, 

The  strong  in  strength,  the  weak  in  weakness  fixed, 

The  Muse  for  ever  wedded  to  her  lyre. 

The  Nymph  to  her  fawn,  the  Silence  to  her  rose : 

See  God's  approval  on  his  universe  ! 

Let  us  do  so — aspire  to  live  as  these 

In  harmony  with  truth,  ourselves  being  true  ! 

Take  the  first  way,  and  let  the  second  come ! 

My  first  is  to  possess  myself  of  you  ; 

The  music  sets  the  march-step — forward,  then  ! 

And  there  's  the  Queen,  I  go  to  claim  you  of, 

The  world  to  witness,  wonder  and  applaud. 

Our  flower  of  life  breaks  open.     No  delay ! 

Con.  And  so  shall  we  be  ruined,  both  of  us. 
Norbert,  I  know  her  to  the  skin  and  bone  : 
You  do  not  know  her,  were  not  born  to  it, 


IN    A    BALCONY.  13 

To  feel  what  she  can  see  or  cannot  see. 
Love,  she  is  generous, — ay,  despite  your  smile, 
Generous  as  you  are  :  for,  in  that  thin  frame 
Pain-twisted,    punctured     through     and     through    with 

cares, 
There  lived  a  lavish  soul  until  it  starved 
Debarred  all  healthy  food.     Look  to  the  soul — 
Pity  that,  stoop  to  that,  ere  you  begin 
(The  true  man's-way)  on  justice  and  your  rights, 
Exactions  and  acquittance  of  the  past ! 
Begin  so — see  what  justice  she  will  deal  I 
We  women  hate  a  debt  as  men  a  gift. 
Suppose  her  some  poor  keeper  of  a  school 
Whose  business  is  to  sit  thro'  summer  months 
And  dole  out  children  leave  to  go  and  play, 
Herself  superior  to  such  lightness — she 
In  the  arm-chair's  state  and  paedagogic  pomp, 
To  the  life,  the  laughter,  sun  and  youth  outside ; 
We  wonder  such  a  face  looks  black  on  us  ? 
I  do  not  bid  you  wake  her  tenderness, 
(That  were  vain  truly — none  is  left  to  wake) 
But,  let  her  think  her  justice  is  engaged 
To  take  the  shape  of  tenderness,  and  mark 
If  she  '11  not  coldly  pay  its  warmest  debt ! 
Does  she  love  me,  I  ask  you  ?  not  a  whit : 
Yet,  thinking  that  her  justice  was  engaged 
To  help  a  kinswoman,  she  took  me  up — ■ 
Did  more  on  that  bare  ground  than  other  loves 
Would  do  on  greater  argument.     For  me, 


14  IN   A   BALCONY. 

I  have  no  equivalent  of  such  cold  kind 

To  pay  her  with,  but  love  alone  to  give 

If  I  give  anything.     I  give  her  love  : 

I  feel  I  ought  to  help  her,  and  I  will. 

So,  for  her  sake,  as  yours,  I  tell  you  twice 

That  women  hate  a  debt  as  men  a  gift. 

If  I  were  you,  I  could  obtain  this  grace — 

Could  lay  the  whole  I  did  to  love's  account, 

Nor  yet  be  very  false  as  courtiers  go — 

Declaring  my  success  was  recompense  ; 

It  would  be  so,  in  fact :  what  were  it  else  ? 

And  then,  once  loose  her  generosity, — 

Oh,  how  I  see  it !  then,  were  I  but  you 

To  turn  it,  let  it  seem  to  move  itself. 

And  make  it  offer  what  I  really  take. 

Accepting  just,  in  the  poor  cousin's  hand, 

Her  value  as  the  next  thing  to  the  Queen's — 

Since  none  loves  Queens  directly,  none  dares  that. 

And  a  thing's  shadow  or  a  name's  mere  echo 

Suffices  those  who  miss  the  name  and  thing  ! 

You  pick  up  just  a  ribbon  she  has  worn. 

To  keep  in  proof  how  near  her  breath  you  came. 

Say,  I  'm  so  near  I  seem  a  piece  of  her — 

Ask  for  me  that  way — (oh,  you  understand) 

You  'd  find  the  same  gift  yielded  with  a  grace, 

Which,  if  you  make  the  least  show  to  extort  .  .  . 

• — ^You  '11  see !  and  when  you  have  ruined  both  of  us, 

Dissertate  on  the  Queen's  ingratitude  ! 

Nor.  Then,  if  I  turn  it  that  way,  you  consent  ? 


IN   A    BALCONY. 

'T  is  not  my  way ;  I  have  more  hope  in  truth  : 
Still,  if  you  won't  have  truth — why,  this  indeed, 
Were  scarcely  false,  as  I  'd  express  the  sense. 
Will  you  remain  here  ? 

Con.  O  best  heart  of  mine, 

How  I  have  loved  you  !  then,  you  take  my  way  ? 
Are  mine  as  you  have  been  her  minister, 
Work  out  my  thought,  give  it  effect  for  me, 
Paint  plain  my  poor  conceit  and  make  it  serve  ? 
I  owe  that  withered  woman  everything — 
Life,  fortune,  you,  remember !     Take  my  part — 
Help  me  to  pay  her  !     Stand  upon  your  rights  ? 
You,  with  my  rose,  my  hands,  my  heart  on  you  ? 
Your  rights  are  mine — you  have  no  rights  but  mine. 

Nor.  Remain  here.     How  you  know  me  ! 

Con.  Ah,  but  still- 


\^He  breaks  from  her :  she  remains.     Dance-music 
from  within. 


Enter  the  Queen. 
Queen.  Constance  ?    She  is  here  as  he  said.     Speak 
quick  ! 
Is  it  so  ?     Is  it  true  or  false  ?     One  word  ? 
Con.  True. 

Queen.  MercifuUest  Mother,  thanks  to  thee  ! 

Con,  Madam  ? 
Queen,  I  love  you,  Constance,  from  my  soul. 


1 6  IN    A    BALCONY. 

Now  say  once  more,  with  any  words  you  will, 
'T  is  true,  all  true,  as  true  as  that  I  speak. 

Con.  Why  should  you  doubt  it  ? 

Quern.  Ah,  why  doubt  ?  why  doubt  ? 

Dear,  make  me  see  it !     Do  you  see  it  so  ? 
None  see  themselves;  another  sees  them  best. 
You  say  "why  doubt  it?" — you  see  him  and  me. 
It  is  because  the  Mother  has  such  grace 
That  if  we  had  but  faith — wherein  we  fail — 
Whate'er  we  yearn  for  would  be  granted  us  ; 
Howbeit  we  let  our  whims  prescribe  despair, 
Our  very  fancies  thwart  and  cramp  our  will, 
And  so,  accepting  life,  abjure  ourselves. 
Constance,  I  had  abjured  the  hope  of  love 
And  being  loved,  as  truly  as  yon  palm 
The  hope  of  seeing  Egypt  from  that  plot. 

Con.  Heaven  ! 

Queen.  But  it  was  so,  Constance,  it  was  so  ! 

Men  say — or  do  men  say  it  ?  fancies  say — 
"  Stop  here,  your  hfe  is  set,  you  are  grown  old. 
"  Too  late — no  love  for  you,  too  late  for  love — 
"  Leave  love  to  girls.     Be  queen  :  let  Constance  love  ! ' 
One  takes  the  hint— half  meets  it  like  a  child, 
Ashamed  at  any  feelings  that  oppose. 
"  Oh  love,  true,  never  think  of  love  again  ! 
"  I  am  a  queen :  I  rule,  not  love,  indeed." 
So  it  goes  on  ;  so  a  face  grows  like  this, 
Hair  like  this  hair,  poor  arms  as  lean  as  these^ 
Till, — nay,  it  does  not  end  so,  I  thank  God ! 


IN   A   BALCONY. 


17 


Con.  I  cannot  understand — 

Queen.  The  happier  you  ! 

Constance,  I  know  not  how  it  is  with  men  : 
For  women  (I  am  a  woman  now  like  you) 
There  is  no  good  of  Hfe  but  love — but  love  ! 
What  else  looks  good,  is  some  shade  flung  from  love  , 
Love  gilds  it,  gives  it  worth.     Be  warned  by  me, 
Never  you  cheat  yourself  one  instant !     Love, 
Give  love,  ask  only  love,  and  leave  the  rest ! 

0  Constance,  how  I  love  you  ! 

Coil.  I  love  you. 

Queen.  I  do  believe  that  all  is  come  through  you. 

1  took  you  to  my  heart  to  keep  it  warm 

When  the  last  chance  of  love  seemed  dead  in  me ; 
T  thought  your  fresh  youth  warmed  my  withered  heart. 
Oh,  I  am  very  old  now,  am  I  not  ? 
Not  so  !  it  is  true  and  it  shall  be  true ! 

Con.  Tell  it  me  :  let  me  judge  if  true  or  false. 

Queen.  Ah,  but  I  fear  you  !  you  will  look  at  me 
And  say,  "  she  's  old,  she  's  grown  unlovely  quite 
"  Who  ne'er  was  beauteous  :  men  want  beauty  still." 
Well,  so  I  feared — the  curse  !  so  I  felt  sure ! 

Con.  Be  calm.     And  now  you  feel  not  sure,  you  say  ? 

Queen.  Constance,   he    came, — the   coming  was    not 
strange — 
Do  not  I  stand  and  see  men  come  and  go? 
I  turned  a  half-look  from  my  pedestal 
Where  I  grow  marble — "  one  young  man  the  more  ! 
"  He  will  love  some  one  ;  that  is  nought  to  me  : 

VOL.  VI.  2 


%\ 


1 8  IN   A   BALCONY. 

"  What  would  he  with  my  marble  stateliness  ?  " 
Yet  this  seemed  somewhat  worse  than  heretofore  ; 
The  man  more  gracious,  youthful,  like  a  god. 
And  I  still  older,  with  less  flesh  to  change — 
We  two  those  dear  extremes  that  long  to  touch. 
It  seemed  still  harder  when  he  first  began 
Absorbed  to  labour  at  the  state-affairs 
The  old  way  for  the  old  end — interest. 
Oh,  to  live  with  a  thousand  beating  hearts 
Around  you,  swift  eyes,  serviceable  hands, 
Professing  they've  no  care  but  for  your  cause. 
Thought  but  to  help  you,  love  but  for  yourself. 
And  you  the  marble  statue  all  the  time 
They  praise  and  point  at  as  preferred  to  life. 
Yet  leave  for  the  first  breathing  woman's  cheek. 
First  dancer's,  gipsy's  or  street  baladine's  ! 
Why,  how  I  have  ground  my  teeth  to  hear  men's  speech 
Stifled  for  fear  it  should  alarm  my  ear. 
Their  gait  subdued  lest  step  should  startle  me, 
Their  eyes  declined,  such  queendom  to  respect, 
Their  hands  alert,  such  treasure  to  preserve, 
While  not  a  man  of  them  broke  rank  and  spoke, 
Or  wrote  me  a  vulgar  letter  all  of  love, 
Or  caught  my  hand  and  pressed  it  like  a  hand  ! 
There  have  been  moments,  if  the  sentinel 
Lowering  his  halbert  to  salute  the  queen. 
Had  flung  it  brutally  and  clasped  my  knees, 
I  would  have  stooped  and  kissed  him  with  my  soul. 
Con.  Who  could  have  comprehended  ? 


IN   A   BALCONY.  I9 

Queen.  Ay,  who — who? 

Why,  no  one,  Constance,  but  this  one  who  did. 
Not  they,  not  you,  not  I.     Even  now  perhaps 
It  comes  too  late — would  you  but  tell  the  truth. 

Con.  I  wait  to  tell  it. 

Queen.  Well,  you  see,  he  came, 

Outfaced  the  others,  did  a  work  this  year 
Exceeds  in  value  all  was  ever  done, 
You  know — it  is  not  I  who  say  it — all 
Say  it.     And  so  (a  second  pang  and  worse) 
I  grew  aware  not  only  of  what  he  did, 
But  why  so  wondrously.     Oh,  never  work 
Like  his  was  done  for  work's  ignoble  sake — 
It  must  have  finer  aims  to  lure  it  on  ! 
I  felt,  I  saw,  he  loved — loved  somebody. 
And  Constance,  my  dear  Constance,  do  you  know, 
I  did  believe  this  while  't  was  you  he  loved. 

Con.  Me,  madam  ? 

Queen.  It  did  seem  to  me,  your  face 

Met  him  where'er  he  looked  :  and  whom  but  you 
Was  such  a  man  to  love  ?     It  seemed  to  me, 
You  saw  he  loved  you,  and  approved  the  love, 
And  so  you  both  were  in  intelligence. 
You  could  not  loiter  in  the  garden,  step 
Into  this  balcony,  but  I  straight  was  stung 
And  forced  to  understand.     It  seemed  so  true, 
So  right,  so  beautiful,  so  like  you  both. 
That  all  this  work  should  have  been  done  by  him 
Not  for  the  vulgar  hope  of  recompense, 


20  IN   A    BALCONV. 

But  that  at  last — suppose,  some  night  like  this — 

Borne  on  to  claim  his  due  reward  of  me, 

He  might  say,  "  Give  her  hand  and  pay  me  so." 

And  I  (O  Constance,  you  shall  love  me  now  !) 

I  thought,  surmounting  all  the  bitterness, 

— "  And  he  shall  have  it.     I  will  make  her  blest, 

"  My  flower  of  youth,  my  woman's  self  that  was, 

"  My  happiest  woman's  self  that  might  have  been  ! 

"  These  two  shall  have  their  joy  and  leave  me  here." 

Yes — yes ! 

Con.  Thanks ! 

Queen.  And  the  word  was  on  my  lips 

When  he  burst  in  upon  me.     I  looked  to  hear 
A  mere  calm  statement  of  his  just  desire 
For  payment  of  his  labour.     When — O  heaven, 
How  can  I  tell  you  ?  cloud  was  on  my  eyes 
And  thunder  in  my  ears  at  that  first  word 
Which  told  't  was  love  of  me,  of  me,  did  all — 
He  loved  me — from  the  first  step  to  the  last, 
Loved  me  ! 

Con.         You  did  not  hear  .  .  .  you  thought  he  spoke 
Of  love  ?  what  if  you  should  mistake  ? 

Queen.  No,  no — 

No  mistake  !     Ha,  there  shall  be  no  mistake  ! 
He  had  not  dared  to  hint  the  love  he  felt — 
You  were  my  reflex — (how  I  understood  !) 
He  said  you  were  the  ribbon  I  had  worn. 
He  kissed  my  hand,  he  looked  into  my  eyes. 
And  love,  love  was  the  end  of  every  phrase. 


IN    A    BALCONY.  ■^  * 

Love  is  begun  ;  this  much  is  come  to  pass  : 

The  rest  is  eas3^     Constance,  I  am  yours  ! 

I  will  learn^  I  will  place  my  life  on  you, 

But  teach  me  how  to  keep  what  I  have  won  ' 

Am  I  so  old  ?     This  hair  was  early  grey ; 

But  joy  ere  now  has  brought  hair  brown  again, 

And  joy  will  bring  the  cheek's  red  back,  I  feel. 

I  could  sing  once  too  ;  that  was  in  my  youth. 

Still,  when  men  paint  me,  they  declare  me  .  .  .  yes. 

Beautiful — for  the  last  French  painter  did  ! 

I  know  they  flatter  somewhat ;  you  are  frank — 

I  trust  you.     How  I  loved  you  from  the  first  ■ 

Some  queens  would  hardly  seek  a  cousin  out 

And  set  her  by  their  side  to  take  the  eye  : 

I  must  have  felt  that  good  would  come  from  you. 

I  am  not  generous — like  him — like  you  ! 

But  he  is  not  your  lover  after  all : 

It  was  not  you  he  looked  at.     Saw  you  him  ? 

You  have  not  been  mistaking  words  or  looks  ? 

He  said  you  were  the  reflex  of  myself. 

And  yet  he  is  not  such  a  paragon 

To  you,  to  younger  women  who  may  choose 

Among  a  thousand  Norberts.     Speak  the  truth  ! 

You  know  you  never  named  his  name  to  me — 

You  know,  I  cannot  give  him  up — ah  God, 

Not  up  now,  even  to  you  ! 

Co7i.  Then  calm  yourself. 

Qtieen.  See,  I  am  old — look  here,  you  happy  girl ! 
I  will  not  play  the  fool,  deceive  myself ; 


22  IN   A   BALCONY. 

'T  is  all  gone  :  put  your  cheek  beside  my  cheek — 
Ah,  what  a  contrast  does  the  moon  behold  ! 
But  then  I  set  my  life  upon  one  chance, 
The  last  chance  and  the  best — am  /  not  left, 
My  soul,  myself?     All  women  love  great  men 
If  young  or  old  ;  it  is  in  all  the  tales : 
Young  beauties  love  old  poets  who  can  love — 
Why  should  not  he,  the  poems  in  my  soul, 
The  love,  the  passionate  faith,  the  sacrifice, 
The  constancy  ?     I  throw  them  at  his  feet. 
Who  cares  to  see  the  fountain's  very  shape. 
And  whether  it  be  a  Triton's  or  a  Nymph's 
That  pours  the  foam,  makes  rainbows  all  around  ? 
You  could  not  praise  indeed  the  empty  conch ; 
But  I  '11  pour  floods  of  love  and  hide  myself. 
How  I  will  love  him  !  Cannot  men  love  love  ? 
Who  was  a  queen  and  loved  a  poet  once 
Humpbacked,  a  dwarf?  ah,  women  can  do  that ! 
Well,  but  men  too ;  at  least,  they  tell  you  so. 
They  love  so  many  women  in  their  youth, 
And  even  in  age  they  all  love  whom  they  please  : 
And  yet  the  best  of  them  confide  to  friends 
That 't  is  not  beauty  makes  the  lasting  love — 
They  spend  a  day  with  such  and  tire  the  next : 
They  like  soul, — well  then,  they  like  phantasy, 
Novelty  even.     Let  us  confess  the  truth, 
Horrible  though  it  be,  that  prejudice, 
Prescription  .  .  .  curses  !  they  will  love  a  queen. 
They  will,  they  do  :  and  will  not,  does  not — he  ? 


1 


IN   A   BALCONY.  23 

Con.  How  can  he  ?    You  are  wedded  :  't  is  a  name 
We  know,  but  still  a  bond.     Your  rank  remains, 
His  rank  remains.     How  can  he,  nobly  souled 
As  you  believe  and  I  incline  to  think, 
Aspire  to  be  your  favourite,  shame  and  all  ? 

Queen.  Hear  her  !     There,  there  now — could  she  love 
like  me  ? 
What  did  I  say  of  smooth-cheeked  youth  and  grace  ? 
See  all  it  does  or  could  do  !  so,  youth  loves  ! 
Oh,  tell  him,  Constance,  you  could  never  do 
What  I  will — you,  it  was  not  born  in  !  I 
Will  drive  these  difficulties  far  and  fast 
As  yonder  mists  curdling  before  the  moon. 
I  '11  use  my  light  too,  gloriously  retrieve 
My  youth  from  its  enforced  calamity. 
Dissolve  that  hateful  marriage,  and  be  his, 
His  own  in  the  eyes  alike  of  God  and  man. 

Con.  You  will  do — dare  do  .  .  .  pause  on  what  you 
say  ! 

Quern.   Hear  her !  I  thank  you,  sweet,  for  that  surprise. 
You  have  the  fair  face  :  for  the  soul,  see  mine  ! 
I  have  the  strong  soul :  let  me  teach  you,  here. 
I  think  I  have  borne  enough  and  long  enough, 
And  patiently  enough,  the  world  remarks, 
To  have  my  own  way  now,  unblamed  by  all. 
It  does  so  happen  (I  rejoice  for  it) 
This  most  unhoped-for  issue  cuts  the  knot. 
There  's  not  a  better  way  of  settling  claims 
Than  this .;  God  sends  the  accident  express  : 


24  IN   A    BALCONY. 

And  were  it  for  my  subjects'  good,  no  more, 

'T  were  best  thus  ordered.     I  am  thankful  now, 

Mute,  passive,  acquiescent.     I  receive, 

And  bless  God  simply,  or  should  almost  fear 

To  walk  so  smoothly  to  my  ends  at  last. 

Why,  how  I  baffle  obstacles,  spurn  fate  ! 

How  strong  I  am  !     Could  Norbert  see  me  now  ! 

Con.  Let  me  consider.     It  is  all  too  strange. 

Queen.  You,   Constance,  learn  of  me  ;  do  you,   like 
me ! 
You  are  young,  beautiful :  my  own,  best  girl, 
You  will  have  many  lovers,  and  love  one — 
Light  hair,  not  hair  like  Norbert's,  to  suit  yours, 
And  taller  than  he  is,  for  yourself  are  tall. 
Love  him,  like  me  !     Give  all  away  to  him  ; 
Think  never  of  yourself ;  throw  by  your  pride, 
Hope,  fear,  —your  own  good  as  you  saw  it  once, 
And  love  him  simply  for  his  very  self. 
Remember,  I  (and  what  am  I  to  you?) 
Would  give  up  all  for  one,  leave  throne,  lose  life. 
Do  all  but  just  unlove  him  !     He  loves  me. 

Con.  He  shall. 

Queen.  You,  step  inside  my  inmost  heart  ! 

Give  me  your  own  heart :  let  us  have  one  heart ! 
I  '11  come  to  you  for  counsel  ;  "  this  he  says, 
"  This  he  does  ;  what  should  this  amount  to,  pray  ? 
"  Beseech  you,  change  it  into  current  coin  ! 
"  Is  that  worth  kisses  ?     Shall  I  please  him  there  ?  " 
And  then  we  '11  speak  in  turn  of  you — what  else  } 


IN    A   BALCONY.  25 

Your  love,  according  to  your  beauty's  worth, 
For  you  shall  have  some  noble  love,  all  gold  : 
Whom  choose  you  ?  we  will  get  him  at  your  choice. 
— Constance,  I  leave  you.     Just  a  minute  since, 
1  felt  as  I  must  die  or  be  alone 
lireathing  my  soul  into  an  ear  like  yours  : 
Now,  I  would  face  the  world  with  my  new  life, 
With  my  new  crown.     I  '11  walk  around  the  rooms, 
And  then  come  back  and  tell  you  how  .it  feels. 
How  soon  a  smile  of  God  can  change  the  world  ! 
How  we  are  made  for  happiness — how  work 
Grows  play,  adversity  a  winning  fight  ! 
True,  I  have  lost  so  many  years  :  what  then  ? 
Many  remain  :  God  has  been  very  good. 
You,  stay  here  !     'T  is  as  different  from  dreams. 
From  the  mind's  cold  calm  estimate  of  bliss, 
As  these  stone  statues  from  the  flesh  and  blood. 
The  comfort  thou  hast  caused  mankind,  God's  moon  ! 

[She  goes  out,  leaving  Constance.     Dance-miisic  from  ivitJiin. 

NoRBERT  enters. 

Nor.  Well  ?  we  have  but  one  minute  and  one  word  ! 

Con.  I  am  yours,  Norbert ! 

Nor.  Yes,  mine. 

Con.  Not  till  now  ! 

You  were  mine.     Now  I  give  myself  to  you. 

Nor.  Constance  ? 

Con.  Your  own  !  I  know  the  thriftier  way 

Of  giving — haply,  't  is  the  wiser  way. 


26  IN   A   BALCONY. 

Meaning  to  give  a  treasure,  I  might  dole 

Coin  after  coin  out  (each,  as  that  were  all, 

VV^ith  a  new  largess  still  at  each  despair) 

And  force  you  keep  in  sight  the  deed,  preserve 

Exhaustless  till  the  end  my  part  and  yours, 

My  giving  and  your  taking  ;  both  our  joys 

Dying  together.     Is  it  the  wiser  way? 

I  choose  the  simpler ;  I  give  all  at  once. 

Know  what  you  have  to  trust  to,  trade  upon  ! 

Use  it,  abuse  it, — anything  but  think 

Hereafter,  "  Had  I  known  she  loved  me  so, 

"  And  what  my  means,  I  might  have  thriven  with  it." 

This  is  your  means.     I  give  you  all  myself. 

Nor.  I  take  you  and  thank  God. 

Con.  Look  on  through  years ! 

We  cannot  kiss,  a  second  day  like  this  ; 
Else  were  this  earth,  no  earth. 

Nor.  With  this  day's  heat 

We  shall  go  on  through  years  of  cold. 

Con.  So,  best ! 

— I  try  to  see  those  years — I  think  I  see. 
You  walk  quick  and  new  warmth  comes  ;  you  look  back 
And  lay  all  to  the  first  glow — not  sit  down 
For  ever  brooding  on  a  day  like  this 
While  seeing  the  embers  whiten  and  love  die. 
Yes,  love  lives  best  in  its  effect ;  and  mine. 
Full  in  its  own  life,  yearns  to  live  in  yours. 

Nor.  Just  so.     I  take  and  know  you  all  at  once. 
Your  soul  is  disengaged  so  easily. 


( 


IN   A   BALCONY.  Zf 

Your  face  is  there,  I  know  you  ;  give  me  time, 

Let  me  be  proud  and  think  you  shall  know  me. 

My  soul  is  slower  :  in  a  life  I  roll 

The  minute  out  whereto  you  condense  yours — 

The  whole  slow  circle  round  you  I  must  move, 

To  be  just  you.     I  look  to  a  long  life 

To  decompose  this  minute,  prove  its  worth, 

'T  is  the  sparks'  long  succession  one  by  one 

Shall  show  you,  in  the  end,  what  fire  was  crammed 

In  that  mere  stone  you  struck  :  how  could  you  know, 

If  it  lay  ever  unproved  in  your  sight, 

As  now  my  heart  lies?  your  own  warmth  would  hide 

Its  coldness,  were  it  cold. 

Con.  But  how  prove,  how  ? 

A^or.  Prove  in  my  life,  you  ask  ? 

Con.  Quick,  Norbert — how  ? 

A^or.  That 's  easy  told.     I  count  life  just  a  stuff 
To  try  the  soul's  strength  on,  educe  the  man. 
Who  keeps  one  end  in  view  makes  all  things  serve. 
As  with  the  body — he  who  hurls  a  lance 
Or  heaps  up  stone  on  stone,  shows  strength  alike. 
So  I  will  seize  and  use  all  means  to  prove 
And  show  this  soul  of  mine,  you  crown  as  yours. 
And  justify  us  both. 

Con.  Could  you  write  books, 

Paint  pictures  !     One  sits  down  in  poverty 
And  writes  or  paints,  with  pity  for  the  rich. 

JVor.  And  loves  one's  painting  and  one's  writing,  then, 
And  not  one's  mistress  !     All  is  best,  believe, 


28  IN   A   BALCONY. 

And  we  best  as  no  other  than  we  are. 

We  live,  and  they  experiment  on  Ufe — 

Those  poets,  painters,  all  who  stand  aloof 

To  overlook  the  farther.     Let  us  be 

The  thing  they  look  at  !     I  might  take  your  face 

And  write  of  it  and  paint  it — to  what  end  ? 

For  whom  ?  what  pale  dictatress  in  the  air 

Feeds,  smiling  sadly,  her  fine  ghost-like  form 

With  earth's  real  blood  and  breath,  the  beauteous  life 

She  makes  despised  for  ever?     You  are  mine, 

Made  for  me,  not  for  others  in  the  world, 

Nor  yet  for  that  which  I  should  call  my  art, 

The  cold  calm  power  to  see  how  fair  you  look. 

I  come  to  you ;  I  leave  you  not,  to  write 

Or  paint.     You  are,  I  am  :  let  Rubens  there 

Paint  us ! 

Con.         So,  best ! 

Nor.  I  understand  your  soul. 

You  live,  and  rightly  sympathize  with  life, 
With  action,  power,  success.     This  way  is  straight ; 
And  time  were  short  beside,  to  let  me  change 
The  craft  my  childhood  learnt :  my  craft  shall  serve. 
Men  set  me  here  to  subjugate,  enclose. 
Manure  their  barren  lives,  and  force  the  fruit 
First  for  themselves,  and  afterward  for  me 
In  the  due  tithe ;  the  task  of  some  one  man. 
Through  ways  of  work  appointed  by  themselves. 
I  am  not  bid  create — they  see  no  star 
Transfiguring  my  brow  to  warrant  that — 


IN   A   BALCONY.  29 

But  bind  in  one  and  carry  out  their  wills.  ^~ 

So  I  began  :  to-night  sees  how  I  end. 

What  if  it  see,  too,  my  first  outbreak  here 

Amid  the  warmth,  surprise  and  sympathy, 

And  instincts  of  the  heart  that  teach  the  head  ? 

What  if  the  people  have  discerned  at  length 

The  dawn  of  the  next  nature,  the  new  man 

Whose  will  they  venture  in  the  place  of  theirs, 

And  who,  they  trust,  shall  find  them  out  new  ways 

To  heights  as  new  which  yet  he  only  sees  ? 

I  felt  it  when  you  kissed  me.     See  this  Queen, 

This  people — in  our  phrase,  this  mass  of  men — 

See  how  the  mass  lies  passive  to  my  hand 

And  how  my  hand  is  plastic,  and  you  by 

To  make  the  muscles  iron  !     Oh,  an  end 

Shall  crown  this  issue  as  this  crowns  the  first ! 

My  will  be  on  this  people !  then,  the  strain, 

The  grappling  of  the  potter  with  his  clay. 

The  long  uncertain  struggle, — the  success 

And  consummation  of  the  spirit-work, 

Some  vase  shaped  to  the  curl  of  the  god's  lip, 

While  rounded  fair  for  lower  men  to  see 

The  Graces  in  a  dance  all  recognise 

With  turbulent  applause  and  laughs  of  heart  1 

So  triumph  ever  shall  renew  itself; 

Ever  shall  end  in  efforts  higher  yet, 

Ever  begin  .  .  . 

Con.  I  ever  helping  ? 

Nor.  Thus ! 


30  IN   A    BALCONY. 

[As  he  embraces  her,  the  QUEEN  enters. 

Con.  Hist,  madam  !     So  I  have  performed  my  part. 
You  see  your  gratitude's  true  decency, 
Norbert  ?    A  little  slow  in  seeing  it ! 
Begin,  to  end  the  sooner  !    What 's  a  kiss  ? 

Nor.  Constance? 

Con.  Why,  must  I  teach  it  you  again  ? 

You  want  a  witness  to  your  dulness,  sir  ? 
What  was  I  saying  these  ten  minutes  long  ? 
Then  I  repeat — when  some  young  handsome  man 
Like  you  has  acted  out  a  part  like  yours. 
Is  pleased  to  fall  in  love  with  one  beyond, 
So  very  far  beyond  him,  as  he  says — 
So  hopelessly  in  love  that  but  to  speak 
Would  prove  him  mad, — he  thinks  judiciously, 
And  makes  some  insignificant  good  soul. 
Like  me,  his  friend,  adviser,  confidant, 
And  very  stalking-horse  to  cover  him 
In  following  after  what  he  dares  not  face — 
When  his  end  's  gained — (sir,  do  you  understand  ?) 
When  she,  he  dares  not  face,  has  loved  him  first, 
— May  I  not  say  so,  madam  ? — tops  his  hope, 
And  overpasses  so  his  wildest  dream. 
With  glad  consent  of  all,  and  most  of  her 
The  confidant  who  brought  the  same  about — 
Why,  in  the  moment  when  such  joy  explodes, 
I  do  hold  that  the  merest  gentleman 
Will  not  start  rudely  from  the  stalking-horse. 
Dismiss  it  with  a  "  There,  enough  of  you  ! " 


IN   A    BALCONY.  3I 

Forget  it,  show  his  back  unmannerly  : 
But  Hke  a  liberal  heart  will  rather  turn 
And  say,  "  A  tingling  time  of  hope  was  ours  ; 
"  Betwixt  the  fears  and  falterings,  we  two  lived 
"  A  chanceful  time  in  waiting  for  the  prize  : 
"  The  confidant,  the  Constance,  served  not  ill. 
"  And  though  I  shall  forget  her  in  due  time, 
"  Her  use  being  answered  now,  as  reason  bids, 
"  Nay  as  herself  bids  from  her  heart  of  hearts, — 
**  Still,  she  has  rights,  the  first  thanks  go  to  her, 
"  The  first  good  praise  goes  to  the  prosperous  tool, 
"  And  the  first — which  is  the  last — rewarding  kiss." 

Nor.  Constance,  it  is  a  dream — ah,  see,  you  smile  ! 

Con.  So,  now  his  part  being  properly  performed, 
Madam,  I  turn  to  you  and  finish  mine 
As  duly;  I  do  justice  in  my  turn. 
Yes,  madam,  he  has  loved  you — long  and  well ; 
He  could  not  hope  to  tell  you  so — 't  was  I 
Who  served  to  prove  your  soul  accessible, 
I  led  his  thoughts  on,  drew  them  to  their  place 
When  else  they  had  wandered  out  into  despair, 
And  kept  love  constant  toward  its  natural  aim. 
Enough,  my  part  is  played ;  you  stoop  half-way 
And  meet  us  royally  and  spare  our  fears  : 
'T  is  like  yourself.     He  thanks  you,  so  do  I. 
Take  him — with  my  full  heart  !  my  work  is  praised 
By  what  comes  of  it.     Be  you  happy,  both  ! 
Yourself — the  only  one  on  earth  who  can — 
Do  all  for  him,  much  more  than  a  mere  heart 


32  IN  A   BALCONY. 

Which  though  warm  is  not  useful  in  its  wannth 
As  the  silk  vesture  of  a  queen  !  fold  that 
Around  him  gently,  tenderly.     For  him — 
For  him, — he  knows  his  own  part ! 

Nor.  Have  you  done  ? 

I  take  the  jest  at  last.     Should  I  speak  now  ? 
Was  yours  the  wager,  Constance,  foolish  child, 
Or  did  you  but  accept  it  ?    Well — at  least 
You  lose  by  it. 

Con,  Nay,  madam,  't  is  your  turn  ! 

Restrain  him  still  from  speech  a  little  more, 
And  make  him  happier  and  more  confident ! 
Pity  him,  madam,  he  is  timid  yet ! 
Mark,  Norbert !     Do  not  shrink  now  !     Here  I  yield 
My  whole  right  in  you  to  the  Queen,  observe  ! 
With  her  go  put  in  practise  the  great  schemes 
You  teem  with,  follow  the  career  else  closed — 
Be  all  you  cannot  be  except  by  her  ! 
Behold  her  ! — Madam,  say  for  pity's  sake 
Anything — frankly  say  you  love  him  !     Else 
He  '11  not  believe  it :  there  's  more  earnest  in 
His  fear  than  you  conceive  :  I  know  the  man  ! 

Nor.  I  know  the  woman  somewhat,  and  confess 
I  thought  she  had  jested  better  :  she  begins 
To  overcharge  her  part.     I  gravely  wait 
Your  pleasure,  madam  :  where  is  my  reward  ? 

Queen.  Norbert,  this  wild  girl  (whom  I  recognise 
Scarce  more  than  you  do,  in  her  fancy -fit, 
Eccentric  speech  and  variable  mirth, 


IN   A   BALCONY.  33 

Not  very  wise  perhaps  and  somewhat  bold, 

Yet  suitable,  the  whole  night's  work  being  strange) 

— May  still  be  right :  I  may  do  well  to  speak 

And  make  authentic  w-hat  appears  a  dream 

To  even  myself.     For,  what  she  says,  is  true : 

Yes,  Norbert — what  you  spoke  just  now  of  love, 

Devotion,  stirred  no  novel  sense  in  me, 

But  justified  a  warmth  felt  long  before. 

Yes,  from  the  first — I  loved  you,  I  shall  say : 

Strange !  but  I  do  grow  stronger,  now  't  is  said. 

Your  courage  helps  mine  :  you  did  well  to  speak 

To-night,  the  night  that  crowns  your  twelvemonths'  toil : 

But  still  I  had  not  waited  to  discern 

Your  heart  so  long,  believe  me  !     From  the  first 

The  source  of  so  much  zeal  was  almost  plain. 

In  absence  even  of  your  own  words  just  now 

Which  opened  out  the  truth.     'T  is  very  strange, 

But  takes  a  happy  ending — in  your  love 

Which  mine  meets  :  be  it  so  !  as  you  choose  me. 

So  I  choose  you. 

Nor.  And  worthily  you  choose. 

I  will  not  be  unworthy  your  esteem, 
No,  madam.     I  do  love  you  ;  I  will  meet 
Your  nature,  now  I  know  it.     This  was  well. 
I  see, — you  dare  and  you  are  justified  : 
But  none  had  ventured  such  experiment, 
Less  versed  than  you  in  nobleness  of  heart, 
Less  confident  of  finding  such  in  me. 
I  joy  that  thus  you  test  me  ere  you  grant 

VOL.    VL  3 


34  IN    A    BALCONY. 

The  dearest  richest  beauteousest  and  best 
Of  women  to  my  arms  :  't  is  Hke  yourself. 
So — back  again  into  my  part's  set  words — 
Devotion  to  the  uttermost  is  yours, 
But  no,  you  cannot,  madam,  even  you, 
Create  in  me  the  love  our  Constance  does. 
Or — something  truer  to  the  tragic  phrase — 
Not  yon  magnolia-bell  superb  with  scent 
Invites  a  certain  insect — that 's  myself — 
But  the  small  eye-flower  nearer  to  the  ground. 
I  take  this  lady. 

Con.  Stay — not  hers,  the  trap — 

Stay,  Norbert — that  mistake  were  worst  of  all ! 
He  is  too  cunning,  madam  !     It  was  I, 
I,  Norbert,  who  .  .  . 

Nor.  You,  was  it,  Constance  ?     Then, 

But  for  the  grace  of  this  divinest  hour 
Which  gives  me  you,  I  might  not  pardon  here  ! 
I  am  the  Queen's  ;  she  only  knows  my  brain  : 
She  may  experiment  therefore  on  my  heart 
And  I  instruct  her  too  by  the  result. 
But  you,  Sweet,  you  who  know  me,  who  so  long 
Have  told  my  heart-beats  over,  held  my  life 
In  those  white  hands  of  yours, — it  is  not  well  ! 

Con.  Tush  !  I  have  said  it,  did  I  not  say  it  all  ? 
The  life,  for  her — the  heart-beats,  for  her  sake  ! 

Nor.    Enough  !  my  cheek  grows  red,  I  think.     Your 
test? 
There  's  not  the  meanest  woman  in  the  world, 


IN    A    fiALCONY.  35 

Not  she  I  least  could  love  m  all  the  world, 

Whom,  did  she  love  me,  did  love  prove  itself, 

1  dared  insult  as  you  insult  me  now. 

Constance,  I  could  say,  if  it  must  be  said, 

"  Take  back  the  soul  you  offer,  I  keep  mine  ! " 

But — "  Take  the  soul  still  quivering  on  your  hand, 

"  The  soul  so  offered,  which  I  cannot  use, 

"  And,  please  you,  give  it  to  some  playful  friend, 

"  For — what  's  the  trifle  he  requites  me  with  ?  " 

I,  tempt  a  woman,  to  amuse  a  man, 

That  two  may  mock  her  heart  if  it  succumb  ? 

No  :  fearing  God  and  standing  'neath  his  heaven, 

I  would  not  dare  insult  a  woman  so, 

Were  she  the  meanest  woman  in  the  world, 

And  he,  I  cared  to  please,  ten  emperors  ! 

Con.  Norbert ! 

Nor.  I  love  once  as  I  live  but  once. 

What  case  is  this  to  think  or  talk  about  ? 
I  love  you.     Would  it  mend  the  case  at  all 
Should  such  a  step  as  this  kill  love  in  me  ? 
Your  part  were  done  :  account  to  God  for  it ! 
But  mine — could  murdered  love  get  up  again, 
And  kneel  to  whom  you  please  to  designate, 
And  make  you  mirth  ?     It  is  too  horrible. 
You  did  not  know  this,  Constance  ?  now  you  know 
That  body  and  soul  have  each  one  life,  but  one  : 
And  here  's  my  love,  here,  living,  at  your  feet. 

Con.    See  the  Queen !      Norbert — this  one  more  last 
word — 


36  IN   A    BALCONY. 

If  thus  you  have  taken  jest  for  earnest — thus 
Loved  me  in  earnest  .  .  . 

Nor.  Ah,  no  jest  holds  here  ! 

Where  is  the  laughter  in  which  jest  breaks  up, 
And  what  this  horror  that  grows  palpable  ? 
Madam — why  grasp  you  thus  the  balcony  ? 
Have  I  done  ill  ?     Have  I  not  spoken  the  truth  ? 
How  could  I  other  ?     Was  it  not  your  test, 
To  try  me,  and  what  my  love  for  Constance  meant  ? 
Madam,  your  royal  soul  itself  approves, 
The  first,  that  I  should  choose  thus  !  so  one  takes 
A  beggar, — asks  him,  what  would  buy  his  child? 
And  then  approves  the  expected  laugh  of  scorn 
Returned  as  something  noble  from  the  rags. 
Speak,  Constance,  I  'm  the  beggar !     Ha,  what 's  this  ? 
You  two  glare  each  at  each  like  panthers  now. 
Constance,  the  world  fades  ;  only  you  stand  there  ! 
You  did  not,  in  to-night's  wild  whirl  of  things, 
Sell  me — your  soul  of  souls,  for  any  price  ? 
No — no — 't  is  easy  to  believe  in  you  ! 
Was  it  your  love's  mad  trial  to  o'ertop 
Mine  by  this  vain  self-sacrifice  ?  well,  still — 
Though  I  should  curse,  I  love  you.     I  am  love 
And  cannot  change  :  love's  self  is  at  your  feet ! 

\The  Queen  goes  out. 

Con.  Feel  my  heart ;  let  it  die  against  your  own  ! 

Nor.  Against  my  own.     Explain  not ;  let  this  be  1 
This  is  life's  height. 

Con,  Yours,  yours,  yours  ! 


IN   A   BALCONY.  37 

No7'.  You  and  I — 

Why  care  by  what  meanders  we  are  here 
r  the  centre  of  the  labyrinth  ?     Men  have  died 
Trying  to  find  this  place,  which  we  have  found. 

Con.  Found,  found  ! 

Nor.  Sweet,  never  fear  what  she  can  do  ! 

We  are  past  harm  now. 

Con.  On  the  breast  of  God. 

I  thought  of  men — as  if  you  were  a  man. 
Tempting  him  with  a  crown  ! 

Nor.  This  must  end  here  : 

It  is  too  perfect. 

Con.  There  's  the  music  stopped. 

What  measured  heavy  tread  ?     It  is  one  blaze 
About  me  and  within  me. 

Nor.  Oh,  some  death 

Will  run  its  sudden  finger  round  this  spark 
And  sever  us  from  the  rest ! 

Con.  And  so  do  well. 

Now  the  doors  open. 

J^or.  'T  is  the  guard  comes. 

Con.  Kiss ! 


I 


DRAMATIS     PERSONS. 

London,  1864. 


JAMES     LEE'S    WIFE. 


I. 

JAMES   lee's  wife   speaks  AT  THE   WINDOW. 
I. 

Ah,  Love,  but  a  day, 

And  the  world  has  changed  ! 
The  sun  's  away. 

And  the  bird  estranged  ; 
The  wind  has  dropped. 

And  the  sky  's  deranged  : 
Summer  has  stopped. 


Look  in  my  eyes  ! 

Wilt  thou  change  too  ? 
Should  I  fear  surprise  ? 

Shall  I  find  aught  new 
In  the  old  and  dear, 

In  the  good  and  true, 
With  the  changing  year  ? 


42  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

in. 

Thou  art  a  man, 
But  I  am  thy  love. 

For  the  lake,  its  swan  ; 
For  the  dell,  its  dove  ; 

And  for  thee — (oh,  haste  !) 
Me,  to  bend  above, 

Me,  to  hold  embraced. 


II. 

BY  THE  FIRESIDE. 
I. 

Is  all  our  fire  of  shipwreck  wood, 

Oak  and  pine  ? 
Oh,  for  the  ills  half- understood, 

The  dim  dead  woe 

Long  ago 
Befallen  this  bitter  coast  of  France  ! 
Well,  poor  sailors  took  their  chance  ; 

I  take  mine. 


JAMES    lee's   wife.  43 

II. 

A  ruddy  shaft  our  fire  must  shoot 

O'er  the  sea  : 
Do  sailors  eye  the  casement — mute 

Drenched  and  stark, 

From  their  bark — 
And  envy,  gnash  their  teeth  for  hate 
O'  the  warm  safe  house  and  happy  freight 

— Thee  and  me  ? 

III. 

God  help  you,  sailors,  at  your  need  ! 

Spare  the  curse  ! 
For  some  ships,  safe  in  port  indeed, 

Rot  and  rust. 

Run  to  dust, 
All  through  worms  i'  the  wood,  which  crept, 
Gnawed  our  hearts  out  while  we  slept : 

That  is  worse. 

IV, 

Who  lived  here  before  us  two  ? 

Old-world  pairs. 
Did  a  woman  ever — would  I  knew ! — 

Watch  the  man 

With  whom  began 
Trove's  voyage  full-sail, — (now,  gnash  your  teeth  !) 
When  planks  start,  open  hell  beneath. 

Unawares  ? 


44  DRAMATIS    PERSONS 


III. 


IN  THE  DOORWAY^ 


The  swallow  has  set  her  six  young  on  the  rail, 

And  looks  sea-ward  : 
The  water  's  in  stripes  like  a  snake,  olive-pale 

To  the  leeward, — 
On  the  weather-side,  black,  spotted  vv'hite  with  the  wind. 
"  Good  fortune  departs,  and  disaster  's  behind," — 
Hark,  the  wind  with  its  wants  and  its  infinite  wail  I 


Our  fig-tree,  that  leaned  for  the  saltness,  has  furled 

Her  five  fingers. 
Each  leaf  like  a  hand  opened  wide  to  the  world 

Where  there  lingers 
No  glint  of  the  gold.  Summer  sent  for  her  sake  : 
How  the  vines  writhe  in  rows,  each  impaled  on  its  stake! 
My  heart  shrivels  up  and  my  spirit  shrinks  curled. 


JAMES  lee's  wife.  45 

III. 
Yet  here  are  we  two ;  we  have  love,  house  enough, 

With  the  field  there, 
This  house  of  four  rooms,  that  field  red  and  rough, 

Though  it  yield  there. 
For  the  rabbit  that  robs,  scarce  a  blade  or  a  bent ; 
If  a  magpie  alight  now,  it  seems  an  event ; 
And  they  both  will  be  gone  at  November's  rebuff. 


But  why  must  cold  spread  ?  but  wherefore  bring  change 

To  the  spirit, 
God  meant  should  mate  his  with  an  infinite  range, 

And  inherit 
His  power  to  put  life  in  the  darkness  and  cold  ? 
Oh,  live  and  love  worthily,  bear  and  be  bold  ! 
Whom  Summer  made  friends  of,  let  Winter  estrange  ! 


4^  DRAMATIS   PERSON/E. 


IV. 

ALONG  THE   BEACH. 
I. 

I  WILL  be  quiet  and  talk  with  you, 
And  reason  why  you  are  wrong. 

You  wanted  my  love — is  that  much  true  ? 

And  so  I  did  love,  so  I  do : 
What  has  come  of  it  all  along  ? 


I  took  you — how  could  I  otherwise  ?  , 

For  a  world  to  me,  and  more  ; 
For  all,  love  greatens  and  glorihes 
Till  God  's  a-glow,  to  the  loving  eyes,        | 

In  what  was  mere  earth  before.  \ 

I 

III. 
Yes,  earth — yes,  mere  ignoble  earth  ! 

Now  do  I  mis-state,  mistake  ? 
Do  I  wrong  your  weakness  and  call  it  worth  ? 
Expect  all  harvest,  dread  no  dearth. 

Seal  my  sense  up  for  your  sake  ? 


JAMES  lee's  wife.  47 

IV. 

Oh,  Love,  Love,  no,  Love  !  not  so,  indeed  ! 

You  were  just  weak  earth,  I  knew  : 
With  much  in  you  waste,  with  many  a  weed. 
And  plenty  of  passions  run  to  seed, 

But  a  Httle  good  grain  too. 


And  such  as  you  were,  I  took  you  for  mine  : 

Did  not  you  find  me  yours. 
To  watch  the  oUve  and  wait  the  vine. 
And  wonder  when  rivers  of  oil  and  wine 

Would  flow,  as  the  Book  assures  ? 


Well,  and  if  none  of  these  good  things  came, 

What  did  the  failure  prove  ? 
The  man  was  my  whole  world,  all  the  same, 
With  his  flowers  to  praise  or  his  weeds  to  blame, 

And,  either  or  both,  to  love. 

VII. 

Yet  this  turns  now  to  a  fault — there  !  there  ! 

That  I  do  love,  watch  too  long, 
And  wait  too  well,  and  weary  and  wear ; 
And  't  is  all  an  old  story,  and  my  despair 

Fit  subject  for  some  new  song  : 


48  DRAMATIS   PERSON.^. 


"  How  the  light,  light  love,  he  has  wings  to  fly 

"  At  suspicion  of  a  bond  : 
"  My  wisdom  has  bidden  your  pleasure  good-bye, 
"  Wliich  will  turn  up  next  in  a  laughing  eye, 

"  And  why  should  you  look  beyond  ?  " 


1 


V. 


ON  THE  CLIFF. 

I 

I  LEANED  on  the  turf, 

I  looked  at  a  rock 

Left  dry  by  the  surf; 

For  the  turf,  to  call  it  grass  were  to  mock 

Dead  to  the  roots,  so  deep  was  done 

The  work  of  the  summer  sun, 

n. 

And  the  rock  lay  flat 
As  an  anvil's  face  : 
No  iron  like  that ! 


JAMES  lee's  wife.  49 

Baked  dry ;  of  a  weed,  of  a  shell,  no  trace  : 
Sunshine  outside,  but  ice  at  the  core, 
Death's  altar  by  the  lone  shore. 

III. 

On  the  turf,  sprang  gay 

With  his  films  of  blue, 

No  cricket,  I  '11  say, 

But  a  warhorse,  barded  and  chanfroned  too, 

The  gift  of  a  quixote-mage  to  his  knight, 

Real  fairy,  with  wings  all  right. 

IV. 

On  the  rock,  they  scorch 

Like  a  drop  of  fire 

From  a  brandished  torch. 

Fall  two  red  fans  of  a  butterfly  : 

No  turf,  no  rock,  in  their  ugly  stead, 

See,  wonderful  blue  and  red  ! 

V. 

Is  it  not  so 

With  the  minds  of  men? 

The  level  and  low. 

The  burnt  and  bare,  in  themselves  ;  but  then 

With  such  a  blue  and  red  grace,  not  theirs. 

Love  settling  unawares  ! 


VOL.    VL 


so  DRAMATIS   PERSONA 


VI. 

READING  A  BOOK,   UNDER  THE  CLIFF. 
I. 

"  Still  ailing,  Wind  ?    Wilt  be  appeased  or  no  ? 

"  Which  needs  the  other's  office,  thou  or  I  ? 
"  Dost  want  to  be  disburthened  of  a  woe, 

■ "  And  can,  in  truth,  my  voice  untie 
"  Its  links,  and  let  it  go  ? 

II. 

"  Art  thou  a  dumb,  wronged  thing  that  would  be  rightec 
"  Entrusting  thus  thy  cause  to  me  ?     Forbear ! 

*'  No  tongue  can  mend  such  pleadings ;  faith,  requited 
*'  With  falsehood, — love,  at  last  aware 

*"  Of  scorn, — hopes,  early  blighted, — 

in. 
"  We  have  them  ;  but  I  know  not  any  tone 

"  So  fit  as  thine  to  falter  forth  a  sorrow  : 
"  Dost  think  men  would  go  mad  without  a  moan, 

"If  they  knew  any  way  to  borrow 
"  A  pathos  like  thy  own  ? 


JAMES    lee's   wife.  5 1 


•'  Which  sigh  wouldst  mock,  of  all  the  sighs  ?    The  one 
"  So  long  escaping  from  lips  starved  and  blue, 

"  That  lasts  while  on  her  pallet-bed  the  nun 
"  Stretches  her  length  ;  her  foot  comes  through 

"  The  straw  she  shivers  on  ; 


"  You  had  not  thought  she  was  so  tall :  and  spent, 
"  Her  shrunk  lids  open,  her  lean  fingers  shut 

"  Close,  close,  their  sharp  and  livid  nails  indent 
"  The  clammy  palm  ;  then  all  is  mute  : 

*'  That  way,  the  spirit  went. 

VI. 

"  Or  wouldst  thou  rather  that  I  understand 
"  Thy  will  to  help  me  ? — like  the  dog  I  found 

"  Once,  pacing  sad  this  solitary  strand, 
"  Who  would  not  take  my  food,  poor  hound, 

"  But  whined  and  licked  my  hand." 


52  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

VII. 

All  this,  and  more,  comes  from  some  young  man's  pride 
Of  power  to  see, — in  failure  and  mistake, 

Relinquishment,  disgrace,  on  every  side, — 
Merely  examples  for  his  sake, 

Helps  to  his  path  untried : 


Instances  he  must — simply  recognize  ? 

Oh,  more  than  so  !— must,  with  a  learner's  zeal, 
Make  doubly  prominent,  twice  emphasize, 

By  added  touches  that  reveal 
The  god  in  babe's  disguise. 

IX. 

Oh,  he  knows  what  defeat  means,  and  the  rest ! 

Himself  the  undefeated  that  shall  be  : 
Failure,  disgrace,  he  flings  them  you  to  test, — 

His  triumph,  in  eternity 
Too  plainly  manifest ! 


I 


Whence,  judge  if  he  learn  forthwith  what  the  wind 
Means  in  its  moaning — by  the  happy  prompt 

Instinctive  way  of  youth,  I  mean  ;  for  kind 
Calm  years,  exacting  their  accompt 

Of  pain,  mature  the  mind  : 


JAMES  lee's  wife.  53 

XI. 

And  some  midsummer  morning,  at  the  lull 

Just  about  daybreak,  as  he  looks  across 
A  sparkling  foreign  country,  wonderful 

To  the  sea's  edge  for  gloom  and  gloss, 
Next  minute  must  annul, — 

XII. 

Then,  when  the  wind  begins  among  the  vines, 
So  low,  so  low,  what  shall  it  say  but  this  ? 

"  Here  is  the  change  beginning,  here  the  lines 
"  Circumscribe  beauty,  set  to  bliss 

"  The  limit  time  assigns." 


Nothing  can  be  as  it  has  been  before ; 

Better,  so  call  it,  only  not  the  same. 
To  draw  one  beauty  into  our  hearts'  core, 

And  keep  it  changeless  !  such  our  claim ; 
So  answered, — Never  more  ! 


Simple  ?    Why  this  is  the  old  woe  o'  the  world  ; 

Tune,  to  whose  rise  and  fall  we  live  and  die. 
Rise  with  it,  then  !     Rejoice  that  man  is  hurled 

From  change  to  change  unceasingly, 
His  soul's  wings  never  furled  ! 


54  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

XV. 

That 's  a  new  question  ;  still  replies  the  fact, 
Nothing  endures  :  the  wind  moans,  saying  so  ; 

We  moan  in  acquiescence  :  there  's  life's  pact, 
Perhaps  probation — do  /  know  ? 

God  does  :  endure  his  act ! 


Only,  for  man,  how  bitter  not  to  grave 

On  his  soul's  hands'  palms  one  fair  good  wise  thing 
Just  as  he  grasped  it !     For  himself,  death's  wave ; 

While  time  first  washes — ah,  the  sting  ! — 
O'er  all  he'd  sink  to  save. 


JAMES  lee's  wife.  55 


VII. 

AMONG  THE  ROCKS. 
I. 

Oh,  good  gigantic  smile  o'  the  brown  old  earth, 
This  autumn  morning  !     How  he  sets  his  bones 

Fo  bask  i'  the  sun,  and  thrusts  out  knees  and  feet 

1' or  the  ripple  to  run  over  in  its  mirth  ; 
Listening  the  while,  where  on  the  heap  of  stones 

riie  white  breast  of  the  sea-lark  twitters  sweet. 


That  is  the  doctrine,  simple,  ancient,  true  ; 

Such  is  life's  trial,  as  old  earth  smiles  and  knows. 
If  you  loved  only  what  were  worth  your  love, 
Love  were  clear  gain,  and  wholly  well  for  you : 

Make  the  low  nature  better  by  your  throes  ! 
Give  earth  yourself,  go  up  for  gain  above  ! 


$6  DRAMATIS   PERSONiK. 


VIII. 

BESIDE   THE   DRAWING-BOARD 
I. 

"  As  like  as  a  Hand  to  another  Hand  r  ** 

Whoever  said  that  foolish  thing, 
Could  not  have  studied  to  understand 
The  counsels  of  God  in  fashioning, 
Out  of  the  infinite  love  of  his  heart, 
This  Hand,  whose  beauty  I  praise,  apart 
From  the  world  of  wonder  left  to  praise, 
If  I  tried  to  learn  the  other  ways 
Of  love,  in  its  skill,  or  love,  in  its  power. 
"  As  like  as  a  Hand  to  another  Hand  : " 
Who  said  that,  never  took  his  stand, 
Found  and  followed,  like  me,  an  hour. 
The  beauty  in  this, — how  free,  how  fine 
To  fear,  almost, — of  the  limit-line  ! 
As  I  looked  at  this,  and  learned  and  drew, 

Drew  and  learned,  and  looked  again. 
While  fast  the  happy  minutes  flew. 
Its  beauty  mounted  into  my  brain. 
And  a  fancy  seized  me  ;  I  was  fain 
To  efface  my  work,  begin  anew, 
Kiss  what  before  I  only  drew ; 


JAMES    LEES    WIFE.  57 

Ay,  laying  the  red  chalk  'twixt  my  lips, 
With  soul  to  help  if  the  mere  lips  failed, 
I  kissed  all  right  where  the  drawing  ailed, 

Kissed  fast  the  grace  that  somehow  slips 

Still  from  one's  soulless  finger-tips. 

II. 

'T  is  a  clay  cast,  the  perfect  thing. 

From  Hand  live  once,  dead  long  ago  : 
Princess-like  it  wears  the  ring 

To  fancy's  eye,  by  which  we  know 
That  here  at  length  a  master  found 

His  match,  a  proud  lone  soul  its  mate, 
As  soaring  genius  sank  to  ground 

And  pencil  could  not  emulate 
The  beauty  in  this, — how  free,  how  fine 
To  fear  almost ! — of  the  limit-line. 
Long  ago  the  god,  like  me 
The  worm,  learned,  each  in  our  degree  : 
Looked  and  loved,  learned  and  drew, 

Drew  and  learned  and  loved  again, 
While  fast  the  happy  minutes  flew. 

Till  beauty  mounted  into  his  brain 
And  on  the  finger  which  outvied 

His  art  he  placed  the  ring  that 's  there, 
Still  by  fancy's  eye  descried. 

In  token  of  a  marriage  rare  : 
For  him  on  earth,  his  art's  despair. 
For  him  in  heaven,  his  soul's  fit  bride. 


5^  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

III. 

Little  girl  with  the  poor  coarse  hand 
I  turned  from  to  a  cold  clay  cast — 
I  have  my  lesson,  understand 

The  worth  of  flesh  and  blood  at  last ! 
Nothing  but  beauty  in  a  Hand  ? 

Because  he  could  not  change  the  hue, 
Mend  the  lines  and  make  them  true 
To  this  which  met  his  soul's  demand, — 

Would  Da  Vinci  turn  from  you  ? 
I  hear  him  laugh  my  woes  to  scorn — 
"  The  fool  forsooth  is  all  forlorn 
"  Because  the  beauty,  she  thinks  best, 
"  Lived  long  ago  or  was  never  born, — 
"  Because  no  beauty  bears  the  test 
"  In  this  rough  peasant  Hand  !     Confessed 
"  '  Art  is  null  and  study  void  ! ' 
"  So  sayest  thou  ?    So  said  not  I, 
"  Who  threw  the  faulty  pencil  by, 
"  And  years  instead  of  hours  employed, 
"  Learning  the  veritable  use 
"  Of  flesh  and  bone  and  nerve  beneath 
*'  Lines  and  hue  of  the  outer  sheath, 
''  If  haply  I  might  reproduce 
"  One  motive  of  the  mechanism, 
"  Flesh  and  bone  and  nerve  that  make 
"  The  poorest  coarsest  human  hand 
**  An  object  worthy  to  be  scanned 


JAMES  lee's  wife.  59 

"  A  whole  life  long  for  their  sole  sake. 

"  Shall  earth  and  the  cramped  moment-space 

"  Yield  the  heavenly  crowning  grace  ? 

"  Now  the  parts  and  then  the  whole  ! 

"  Who  art  thou,  with  stinted  soul 

"  And  stunted  body,  thus  to  cry 

"  '  I  love,— shall  that  be  life's  strait  dole  ? 

"  '  I  must  live  beloved  or  die  ! ' 

"  This  peasant  hand  that  spins  the  wool 

"  And  bakes  the  bread,  why  lives  it  on, 

"  Poor  and  coarse  with  beauty  gone, — 

"  What  use  survives  the  beauty  ?     Fool  ! " 

Go,  little  girl  with  the  poor  coarse  hand  ! 
I  have  my  lesson,  shall  understand. 


IX. 


ON   DECK. 


There  is  nothing  to  remember  in  me. 
Nothing  I  ever  said  with  a  grace, 

Nothing  I  did  that  you  care  to  see. 
Nothing  I  was  that  deserves  a  place 

In  your  mind,  now  I  leave  you,  set  you  free. 


6o  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 


II. 

Conceded  !     In  turn,  concede  to  me, 
Such  things  have  been  as  a  mutual  flame. 

Your  soul  's  locked  fast ;  but,  love  for  a  key, 
You  might  let  it  loose,  till  I  grew  the  same 

In  your  eyes,  as  in  mine  you  stand  :  strange  plea  ! 


For  then,  then,  what  would  it  matter  to  me 
That  I  was  the  harsh,  ill-favoured  one  ? 

We  both  should  be  like  as  pea  and  pea ; 
It  was  ever  so  since  the  world  begun  : 

So,  let  me  proceed  with  my  reverie. 


How  strange  it  were  if  you  had  all  me. 
As  I  have  all  you  in  my  heart  and  brain, 

You,  whose  least  word  brought  gloom  or  glee, 
Who  never  lifted  the  hand  in  vain 

Will  hold  mine  yet,  from  over  the  sea  ! 


Strange,  if  a  face,  when  you  thought  of  me. 
Rose  like  your  own  face  present  now, 

With  eyes  as  dear  in  their  due  degree. 

Much  such  a  mouth,  and  as  bright  a  brow. 

Till  you  saw  yourself,  while  you  cried  "  'T  is  She  !  " 


JAMES    lee's   wife.  6 1 

VI. 

Well,  you  may,  you  must,  set  down  to  me 
Love  that  was  life,  life  that  was  love ; 

A  tenure  of  breath  at  your  lips'  decree, 

A  passion  to  stand  as  your  thoughts  approve, 

A  rapture  to  fall  where  your  foot  might  be. 

VII. 

But  did  one  touch  of  such  love  for  me 

Come  in  a  word  or  a  look  of  yours. 
Whose  words  and  looks  will,  circling,  flee 

Round  me  and  round  while  life  endures, — 
Could  I  fancy  "  As  I  feel,  thus  feels  He ; " 


Why,  fade  you  might  to  a  thing  like  me. 

And  your  hair  grow  these  coarse  hanks  of  hair, 

Your  skin,  this  bark  of  a  gnarled  tree, — 

You  might  turn  myself! — should  I  know  or  care, 

When  I  should  be  dead  of  joy,  James  Lee  ? 


GOLD     HAIR 


A  STORY  OF  PORNIC 


Oh,  the  beautiful  girl,  too  white. 

Who  lived  at  Pornic,  down  by  the  sea, 

Just  where  the  sea  and  the  Loire  unite  ! 
And  a  boasted  name  in  Brittany 

She  bore,  which  I  will  not  write. 


Too  white,  for  the  flower  of  life  is  red  , 
Her  flesh  was  the  soft  seraphic  screen 

Of  a  soul  that  is  meant  (her  parents  said) 
To  just  see  earth,  and  hardly  be  seen. 

And  blossom  in  heaven  instead. 


Yet  earth  saw  one  thing,  one  how  fair ! 

One  grace  that  grew  to  its  full  on  earth : 
Smiles  might  be  sparse  on  her  cheek  so  spare, 

And  her  waist  want  half  a  girdle's  girth. 
But  she  had  her  great  gold  hair. 


GOLD    HAIR  :    A   STORY   OF   PORNIC.  63 


Hair,  such  a  wonder  of  flix  and  floss, 

Freshness  and  fragrance — floods  of  it,  too  ! 

Gold,  did  I  say  ?     Nay,  gold  's  mere  dross  : 

Here,  Life  smiled,  "  Think  what  I  meant  to  do  ! " 

And  Love  sighed,  "  Fancy  my  loss  ! " 


So,  when  she  died,  it  was  scarce  more  strange 
Than  that,  when  some  delicate  evening  dies, 

And  you  follow  its  spent  sun's  pallid  range. 
There  's  a  shoot  of  colour  startles  the  skies 

With  sudden,  violent  change, — 


That,  while  the  breath  was  nearly  to  seek, 
As  they  put  the  little  cross  to  her  lips. 

She  changed  ;  a  spot  came  out  on  her  cheek. 
A  spark  from  her  eye  in  mid-eclipse, 

And  she  broke  forth,  "  I  must  speak  !  " 


"  Not  my  hair  !  "  made  the  girl  her  moan  — 

"  All  the  rest  is  gone  or  to  go ; 
"  But  the  last,  last  grace,  my  all,  my  own, 

"  Let  it  stay  in  the  grave,  that  the  ghosts  may  know  ! 
"  Leave  my  poor  gold  hair  alone  ! " 


64  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

VUI. 

The  passion  thus  vented,  dead  lay  she ; 

Her  parents  sobbed  their  worst  on  that, 
All  friends  joined  in,  nor  observed  degree : 

For  indeed  the  hair  was  to  wonder  at, 
As  it  spread — not  flowing  free, 


But  curled  around  her  brow,  like  a  crown, 
And  coiled  beside  her  cheeks,  like  a  cap, 

And  calmed  about  her  neck — ay,  down 
To  her  breast,  pressed  flat,  without  a  gap 

I'  the  gold,  it  reached  her  gown. 


All  kissed  that  face,  like  a  silver  wedge 

Mid  the  yellow  wealth,  nor  disturbed  its  hair ; 

E'en  the  priest  allowed  death's  privilege, 
As  he  planted  the  crucifix  with  care 

On  her  breast,  'twixt  edge  and  edge. 


And  thus  was  she  buried,  inviolate 
Of  body  and  soul,  in  the  very  space 

By  the  altar ;  keeping  saintly  state 

In  Pornic  church,  for  her  pride  of  race, 

Pure  life  and  piteous  fate. 


GOLD    HAIR  :   A    STORY   OF    PORNIC.  C5 


And  in  after-time  would  your  fresh  tear  fall, 

Though  your  mouth  might  twitch  with  a  dubious  smile, 

As  they  told  you  of  gold  both  robe  and  pall, 
How  she  prayed  them  leave  it  alone  awhile, 

So  it  never  was  touched  at  all. 


Years  flew  ;  this  legend  grew  at  last 
The  life  of  the  lady ;  all  she  had  done, 

All  been,  in  the  memories  fading  fast 
Of  lover  and  friend,  was  summed  in  one 

Sentence  survivors  passed  ; 

XIV. 

To  wit,  she  was  meant  for  heaven,  not  earth  ; 

Had  turned  an  angel  before  the  time  : 
Yet,  since  she  was  mortal,  in  such  dearth 

Of  frailty,  all  you  could  count  a  crime 
Was — she  knew  her  gold  hair's  worth. 


At  little  pleasant  Pornic  church, 

It  chanced,  the  pavement  wanted  repair, 
Was  taken  to  pieces  :  left  in  the  lurch, 

A  certain  sacred  space  lay  bare, 
And  the  boys  began  research. 

VOL.    VL 


66  DRAMAXrS   PERSONiE. 


'T  was  the  space  where  our  sires  would  lay  a  saint, 

A  benefactor, — a  bishop,  suppose, 
A  baron  with  armour-adornments  quaint. 

Dame  with  chased  ring  and  jewelled  rose. 
Things  sanctity  saves  from  taint ; 


So  we  come  to  find  them  in  after-days 

When  the  corpse  is  presumed  to  have  done  with  gauds 
Of  use  to  the  living,  in  many  ways  : 

For  the  boys  get  pelf,  and  the  town  applauds. 
And  the  church  deserves  the  praise. 


They  grubbed  with  a  will :  and  at  length — O  cor 
Huniatium,  pedora  coeca,  and  the  rest ! — 

They  found — no  gaud  they  were  prying  for. 

No  ring,  no  rose,  but — who  would  have  guessed  ? — 

A  double  Louis-d'or ! 


Here  was  a  case  for  the  priest :  he  heard, 
Marked,  inwardly  digested,  laid 

Finger  on  nose,  smiled,  "  A  little  bird 

"  Chirps  in  my  ear : "  then,  "  Bring  a  spade, 
Dig  deeper  ! " — he  gave  the  word. 


GOLD   HAIR  :   A   STORY   OF   PORNIC.  67 


And  lo,  when  they  came  to  the  coffin-Hd, 
Or  rotten  planks  which  composed  it  once, 

Why,  there  lay  the  girl's  skull  wedged  amid 
A  mint  of  money,  it  served  for  the  nonce 

To  hold  in  its  hair-heaps  hid  ! 


Hid  there  ?    Why  ?     Could  the  girl  be  wont 
(She  the  stainless  soul)  to  treasure  up 

Money,  earth's  trash  and  heaven's  affront  ? 
Had  a  spider  found  out  the  communion-cup, 

Was  a  toad  in  the  christening-font  ? 


Truth  is  truth  :  too  true  it  was. 

Gold  !     She  hoarded  and  hugged  it  first, 
Longed  for  it,  leaned  o'er  it,  loved  it — alas — 

Till  the  humour  grew  to  a  head  and  burst, 
And  she  cried,  at  the  final  pass, — 

XXIII. 

*'  Talk  not  of  God,  my  heart  is  stone  ! 

"  Nor  lover  nor  friend — be  gold  for  both  ! 
"  Gold  I  lack ;  and,  my  all,  my  own, 

"  It  shall  hide  in  my  hair.     I  scarce  die  loth 
"  If  they  let  my  hair  alone  !  " 


08  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 


Louis-d'ors,  some  six  times  five. 

And  duly  double,  every  piece. 
Now,  do  you  see  ?    With  the  priest  to  shrive, 

With  parents  preventing  her  soul's  release 
By  kisses  that  kept  alive, — 


With  heaven's  gold  gates  about  to  ope, 

With  friends'  praise,  gold-like,  lingering  still. 

An  instinct  had  bidden  the  girl's  hand  grope 

For  gold,  the  true  sort — "  Gold  in  heaven,  if  you  will ; 

"  But  I  keep  earth's  too,  I  hope." 


Enough  !    The  priest  took  the  grave's  grim  yield 
The  parents,  they  eyed  that  price  of  sin 

As  '\i  thirty  pieces  lay  revealed 
On  the  place  to  bury  strangers  in, 

The  hideous  Potter's  Field. 


But  the  priest  bethought  him  :  "  '  Milk  that 's  spilt  * 
"  — You  know  the  adage  !     Watch  and  pray  ! 

"  Saints  tumble  to  earth  with  so  slight  a  tilt ! 
"  It  would  build  a  new  altar  ;  that,  we  may  ! " 

And  the  altar  therewith  was  built. 


GOLD    HAIR  :   A   STORY   OF   PORNIC.  69 


Why  I  deliver  this  horrible  verse  ? 

As  the  text  of  a  sermon,  which  now  I  preach 
Evil  or  good  may  be  better  or  worse 

In  the  human  heart,  but  the  mixture  of  each 
Is  a  marvel  and  a  curse. 


The  candid  incline  to  surmise  of  late 

That  the  Christian  faith  may  be  false,  I  find ; 

For  our  Essays-and-Reviews'  debate 
Begins  to  tell  on  the  public  mind, 

And  Colenso's  words  have  weight : 


I  still,  to  suppose  it  true,  for  my  part. 
See  reasons  and  reasons  ;  this,  to  begin  : 

'T  is  the  faith  that  launched  point-blank  her  dart 
At  the  head  of  a  lie — taught  Original  Sin, 

'^'he  Corruption  of  Man's  Heart. 


THE   WORST   OF    IT. 


Would  it  were  I  had  been  false,  not  you ! 

I  that  am  nothing,  not  you  that  are  all : 
I,  never  the  worse  for  a  touch  or  two 

On  my  speckled  hide  ;  not  you,  the  pride 
Of  the  day,  my  swan,  that  a  first  fleck's  fall 

On  her  wonder  of  white  must  unswan,  undo  ! 


I  had  dipped  in  life's  struggle  and,  out  again. 
Bore  specks  of  it  here,  there,  easy  to  see, 

When  I  found  my  swan  and  the  cure  was  plain  ; 
The  dull  turned  bright  as  I  caught  your  white 

On  my  bosom  :  you  saved  me — saved  in  vain 
If  you  ruined  yourself,  and  all  through  me  ! 


THE  WORST  OF   IT.  Tl 


Yes,  all  through  the  speckled  beast  that  I  am, 
Who  taught  you  to  stoop  ;  you  gave  me  yourself, 

And  bound  your  soul  by  the  vows  that  damn : 
Since  on  better  thought  you  break,  as  you  ought, 

Vows — words,  no  angel  set  down,  some  elf 
Mistook, — for  an  oath,  an  epigram  ! 


Yes,  might  I  judge  you,  here  were  my  heart, 
And  a  hundred  its  like,  to  treat  as  you  pleased  ! 

I  choose  to  be  yours,  for  my  proper  part. 
Yours,  leave  or  take,  or  mar  me  or  make  ; 

If  I  acquiesce,  why  should  you  be  teased 

With  the  conscience-prick  and  the  memory-smart  ? 


But  what  will  God  say  ?     Oh,  my  sweet, 
Think,  and  be  sorry  you  did  this  thing ! 

Though  earth  were  unworthy  to  feel  your  feet. 
There  's  a  heaven  above  may  deserve  your  love 

Should  you  forfeit  heaven  for  a  snapt  gold  ring 
^\nd  a  promise  broke,  were  it  just  or  meet  ? 


72  DRAMATIS   PERSONiK 


n. 
And  I  to  have  tempted  you  !    I,  who  tried 

Your  soul,  no  doubt,  till  it  sank !     Unwise, 
I  loved  and  was  lowly,  loved  and  aspired, 

Loved,  grieving  or  glad,  till  I  made  you  mad, 
And  you  meant  to  have  hated  and  despised — 

Whereas,  you  deceived  me  nor  inquired  1 


She,  ruined  ?     How  ?     No  heaven  for  her? 

Crowns  to  give,  and  none  for  the  brow 
That  looked  like  marble  and  smelt  like  myrrh  ? 

Shall  the  robe  be  worn,  and  the  palm-branch  borne, 
And  she  go  graceless,  she  graced  now 

Beyond  all  saints,  as  themselves  aver  ? 


Hardly  !     That  must  be  understood  ! 

The  earth  is  your  place  of  penance,  then  ; 
And  what  will  it  prove  ?     I  desire  your  good, 

But,  plot  as  I  may,  I  can  find  no  way 
How  a  blow  should  fall,  such  as  falls  on  men, 

Nor  prove  too  much  for  your  womanhood. 


THE   WORST   OF    IT.  73 


It  will  comC;  I  suspect,  at  the  end  of  life, 
When  you  walk  alone,  and  review  the  past ; 

And  I,  who  so  long  shall  have  done  with  strife. 
And  journeyed  my  stage  and  earned  my  wage 

And  retired  as  was  right, — I  am  called  at  last 
When  the  devil  stabs  you,  to  lend  the  knife. 


He  stabs  for  the  minute  of  trivial  wrong, 
Nor  the  other  hours  are  able  to  save, 

The  happy,  that  lasted  my  whole  life  long : 
For  a  promise  broke,  not  for  first  words  spoke, 

The  true,  the  only,  that  turn  my  grave 
To  a  blaze  of  joy  and  a  crash  of  song. 


Witness  beforehand  !     Off  1  trip 

On  a  safe  path  gay  through  the  flowers  you  flung 
My  very  name  made  great  by  your  lip. 

And  my  heart  a-glow  with  the  good  I  know 
Of  a  perfect  year  when  we  both  were  young, 

And  I  tasted  the  angels'  fellowship. 


74  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 


And  witness,  moreover  .  .  .  Ah,  but  wait ! 

I  spy  the  loop  whence  an  arrow  shoots  ! 
It  may  be  for  yourself,  when  you  meditate, 

That  you  grieve — for  slain  ruth,  murdered  truth : 
"  Though  falsehood  escape  in  the  end,  what  boots? 

"  How  truth  would  have  triumphed  ! " — you  sigh  too 
late. 


Ay,  who  would  have  triumphed  like  you,  I  say ! 

Well,  it  is  lost  now ;  well,  you  must  bear. 
Abide  and  grow  fit  for  a  better  day  : 

You  should  hardly  grudge,  could  I  be  your  judge  ! 
But  hush  !     For  you,  can  be  no  despair  : 

There  's  amends  :  't  is  a  secret :  hope  and  pray ! 


For  I  was  true  at  least — oh,  true  enough  ! 

And,  Dear,  truth  is  not  as  good  as  it  seems ! 
Commend  me  to  conscience  !     Idle  stuff! 

Much  help  is  in  mine,  as  I  mope  and  pine, 
And  skulk  through  day,  and  scowl  in  my  dreams 
At  my  swan's  obtaining  the  crow's  rebuff. 


THE  WORST   OF    IT.  75 


XV. 

vlen  tell  me  of  truth  now — "  False  ! "  I  cry  : 
Of  beauty — "  A  mask,  friend  !     Look  beneath  ! " 

iVe  take  our  own  method,  the  devil  and  I, 
With  pleasant  and  fair  and  wise  and  rare  : 

:\nd  the  best  we  wish  to  what  lives,  is — death ; 
Which  even  in  wishing,  perhaps  we  lie  ! 


Far  better  commit  a  fault  and  have  done — 
As  you,  Dear  ! — for  ever ;  and  choose  the  pure, 

And  look  where  the  healing  waters  run, 
And  strive  and  strain  to  be  good  again, 

And  a  place  in  the  other  world  ensure, 
All  glass  and  gold,  with  God  for  its  sun. 


Misery  !     What  shall  I  say  or  do  ? 

I  cannot  advise,  or,  at  least,  persuade : 
Most  like,  you  are  glad  you  deceived  me — rue 

No  whit  of  the  wrong :  you  endured  too  long. 
Have  done  no  evil  and  want  no  aid. 

Will  live  the  old  Hfe  out  and  chance  the  new. 


76  DRAMATIS   PERSONS 


And  your  sentence  is  written  all  the  same, 
And  I  can  do  nothing, — pray,  perhaps  : 

But  somehow  the  world  pursues  its  game, — 
If  I  pray,  if  I  curse, — for  better  or  worse  : 

And  my  faith  is  torn  to  a  thousand  scraps, 

And  my  heart  feels  ice  while  my  words  breathe  flame. 


zix. 

Dear,  I  look  from  my  hiding-place. 

Are  you  still  so  fair  ?     Have  you  still  the  eyes  ? 
Be  happy  !     Add  but  the  other  grace. 

Be  good  !     Why  want  what  the  angels  vaunt  ? 
I  knew  you  once  :  but  in  Paradise, 

If  we  meet,  I  will  pass  nor  turn  my  face. 


DIS   ALITER   VISUM; 

OR, 

LE  BYRON  DE  NOS  JOURS. 


Stop,  let  me  have  the  truth  of  that ! 

Is  that  all  trae  ?     I  say,  the  day- 
Ten  years  ago  when  both  of  us 

Met  on  a  morning,  friends — as  thus 
We  meet  this  evening,  friends  or  what  ? — 


Did  you — because  I  took  your  arm 
And  sillily  smiled,  "  A  mass  of  brass 

"  That  sea  looks,  blazing  underneath  !  " 
While  up  the  cliff-road  edged  with  heath, 

We  took  the  turns  nor  came  to  harm — 


78  DRAMATIS   PERSON-iE. 


Did  you  consider  "  Now  makes  twice 

"  That  I  have  seen  her,  walked  and  talked 

"  With  this  poor  pretty  thoughtful  thing, 
"  Whose  worth  I  weigh  :  she  tries  to  sing ; 

"  Draws,  hopes  in  time  the  eye  grows  nice ; 


"  Reads  verse  and  thinks  she  understands ; 

"  Loves  all,  at  any  rate,  that 's  great, 
"  Good,  beautiful ;  but  much  as  we 

"  Down  at  the  bath-house  love  the  sea, 
"  Who  breathe  its  salt  and  bruise  its  sands : 


"  While  .  .  do  but  follow  the  fishing-gull 
"  That  flaps  and  floats  from  wave  to  cave  ! 

"  There  's  the  sea-lover,  fair  my  friend  ! 

"  What  then  ?     Be  patient,  mark  and  mend  1 

"  Had  you  the  making  of  your  scull  ?  " 


And  did  you,  when  we  faced  the  church 
With  spire  and  sad  slate  roof,  aloof 

From  human  fellowship  so  far, 

Where  a  few  graveyard  crosses  are, 

And  garlands  for  the  swallows'  perch, — 


DIS   ALITER    VISUM  ;   OR,    LE    BYRON    DE    NOS   JOURS.   79 


Did  you  determine,  as  we  stepped 

O'er  the  lone  stone  fence,  "  Let  me  get 

"Her  for  myself,  and  what  's  the  earth 
"  With  all  its  art,  verse,  music,  worth — 

"  Compared  with  love,  found,  gained,  and  kept  ? 

vin. 

"  Schumann  's  our  music-maker  now  ; 

"  Has  his  march -movement  youth  and  mouth  ? 
"  Ingres  's  the  modern  man  that  paints ; 

"  Which  will  lean  on  me,  of  his  saints  ? 
"  Heine  for  songs  ;  for  kisses,  how?  " 


A.nd  did  you,  when  we  entered,  reached 

The  votive  frigate,  soft  aloft 
Riding  on  air  this  hundred  years, 

Safe-smiling  at  old  hopes  and  fears. — 
Did  you  draw  profit  while  she  preached  ? 

X. 

Resolving,  "  Fools  we  wise  men  grow  ! 

"  Yes,  I  could  easily  blurt  out  curt 
'*  Some  question  that  might  find  reply 

"  As  prompt  in  her  stopped  lips,  dropped  eye, 
"  And  rush  of  red  to  cheek  and  brow  : 


8o  DRAMATIS   PERSONiS. 

XI. 

"  Thus  were  a  match  made,  sure  and  fast, 

"  'Mid  the  blue  weed-flowers  round  the  mound 

"  Where,  issuing,  we  shall  stand  and  stay 
"  For  one  more  look  at  baths  and  bay, 

"  Sands,  sea-gulls,  and  the  old  church  last — 


"  A  match  'twixt  me,  bent,  wigged  and  lamed, 
"  Famous,  however,  for  verse  and  worse, 

"  Sure  of  the  Fortieth  spare  Arm-chair 
"  When  gout  and  glory  seat  me  there, 

"  So,  one  whose  love-freaks  pass  unblamed, — 


"  And  this  young  beauty,  round  and  sound 
"  As  a  mountain-apple,  youth  and  truth 

"  With  loves  and  doves,  at  all  events 
"  With  money  in  the  Three  per  Cents ; 

"  Whose  choice  of  me  would  seem  profound  : — 


"  She  might  take  me  as  I  take  her. 

"  Perfect  the  hour  would  pass,  alas  ! 
"  Climb  high,  love  high,  what  matter  ?     Still, 
"  Feet,  feelings,  must  descend  the  hill : 

"  An  hour's  perfection  can't  recur. 


dIs  aliter  visum;  or,  le  byron  de  nos  jours.  8i 


"  Then  follows  Paris  and  full  time 

"  For  both  to  reason  :  '  Thus  with  us  !  * 

"  She  '11  sigh,  'Thus  girls  give  body  and  soul 
"  '  At  first  word,  think  they  gain  the  goal, 

"  'When  't  is  the  starting-place  they  climb  ! 


"  '  My  friend  makes  verse  and  gets  renown  ; 

"  '  Have  they  all  fifty  years,  his  peers  ? 
"  '  He  knows  the  world,  firm,  quiet  and  gay ; 

"  *  Boys  wall  become  as  much  one  day  : 
"  '  They  're  fools  ;  he  cheats,  with  beard  less  brown 


"  '  For  boys  say,  Love  me  or  I  die  I 
"  '  He  did  not  say,  The  truth  is,  youth 

"  ^  I  want,  who  am  old  and  know  too  much  ; 
"  '  rd  catch  youth  :  lend  me  sight  and  touch  / 

"  '  Drop  heart's  blood  where  life's  wheels  grate  dry  /* 


"  While  I  should  make  rejoinder  " — (then 
It  was,  no  doubt,  you  ceased  that  least 

Light  pressure  of  my  arm  in  yours) 
"  '  I  can  conceive  of  cheaper  cures 

"  '  For  a  yawning-fit  o'er  books  and  men. 

VOL.    VI. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 


"  'What?    All  I  am,  was,  and  might  be, 

"  *  All,  books  taught,  art  brought,  life's  whole  strife, 

"  *  Painful  results  since  precious,  just 
"  '  Were  fitly  exchanged,  in  wise  disgust, 

"  *  For  two  cheeks  freshened  by  youth  and  sea  ? 


"  '  All  for  a  nosegay  !— what  came  first ; 

"  '  With  fields  on  flower,  untried  each  side  ; 
"  *  I  rally,  need  my  books  and  men, 

"  '  And  find  a  nosegay  : '  drop  it,  then, 
"  No  match  yet  made  for  best  or  worst ! " 


That  ended  me.     You  judged  the  porch 
We  left  by,  Norman  ;  took  our  look 

At  sea  and  sky  ;  wondered  so  few 
Find  out  the  place  for  air  and  view ; 

Remarked  the  sun  began  to  scorch ; 


Descended,  soon  regained  the  baths, 

And  then,  good-bye  !     Years  ten  since  then 

Ten  years  !     We  meet :  you  tell  me,  now, 
By  a  window-seat  for  that  cliff-brow. 

On  '^arpet-stripes  for  those  sand-paths. 


HIS   ALITER    visum;   OR,    LE    BYRON    DE   NOS   JOURS.   83 
XXIII. 

Now  I  may  speak  :  you  fool,  for  all 

Your  lore  !     Who  made  things  plain  in  vain  ? 

What  was  the  sea  for  ?    What,  the  grey 
Sad  church,  that  solitary  day, 

Crosses  and  graves  and  swallows'  call  ? 


Was  there  nought  better  than  to  enjoy  ? 

No  feat  which,  done,  would  make  time  break. 
And  let  us  pent-up  creatures  through 

Into  eternity,  our  due  ? 
No  forcing  earth  teach  heaven's  employ  ? 


No  wise  beginning,  here  and  now, 
What  cannot  grow  complete  (earth's  feat) 

And  heaven  must  finish,  there  and  then  ? 
No  tasting  earth's  true  food  for  men, 

Its  sweet  in  sad,  its  sad  in  sweet  ? 


No  grasping  at  love,  gaining  a  share 

O'  the  sole  spark  from  God's  life  at  strife 

With  death,  so,  sure  of  range  above 
The  limits  here  ?     For  us  and  love, 

Failure ;  but,  when  God  fails,  despair. 


84  DRAMATIS   PERSON/E. 


This  you  call  wisdom  ?    Thus  you  add 

Good  unto  good  again,  in  vain  ? 
You  loved,  with  body  worn  and  weak  ; 

I  loved,  with  faculties  to  seek  : 
Were  both  loves  worthless  since  ill-clad  ? 

XXVIII. 

Let  the  mere  star-fish  in  his  vault 
Crawl  in  a  wash  of  weed,  indeed, 

Rose-jacynth  to  the  finger-tips  : 

He,  whole  in  body  and  soul,  outstrips 

Man,  found  with  either  in  default 

XXIX. 

But  what  's  whole,  can  increase  no  more, 
Is  dwarfed  and  dies,  since  here  's  its  sphere. 

The  devil  laughed  at  you  in  his  sleeve  ! 
You  knew  not  ?     That  I  well  believe  ; 

Or  you  had  saved  two  souls  :  nay,  four. 


For  Stephanie  sprained  last  night  her  wrist. 
Ankle  or  something.     "  Pooh,"  cry  you  ? 

At  any  rate  she  danced,  all  say. 
Vilely ;  her  vogue  has  had  its  day. 

Here  comes  my  husband  from  his  whist. 


TOO    LATE. 


I. 

Here  was  I  with  my  arm  and  heart 

And  brain,  all  yours  for  a  word,  a  want 
Put  into  a  look — just  a  look,  your  part, — 

While  mine,  to  repay  it  .  .  .  vainest  vaunt, 
Were  the  woman,  that 's  dead,  alive  to  hear, 

Had  her  lover,  that 's  lost,  love's  proof  to  show  ! 
But  I  cannot  show  it ;  you  cannot  speak 

From  the  churchyard  neither,  miles  removed, 
Though  I  feel  by  a  pulse  within  my  cheek, 

Which  stabs  and  stops,  that  the  woman  I  loved 
Needs  help  in  her  grave  and  finds  none  near. 

Wants  warmth  from  the  heart  which  sends  it— so  ! 


Did  I  speak  once  angrily,  all  the  drear  days 
You  lived,  you  woman  I  loved  so  well. 

Who  married  the  other  ?     Blame  or  praise, 
Where  was  the  use  then  ?     Time  would  tell, 

And  the  end  declare  what  man  for  you, 

What  woman  for  me  was  the  choice  of  God. 


i 


86  DRAMATIS   PERSONi«. 

But,  Edith  dead  !  no  doubting  more  ! 

I  used  to  sit  and  look  at  my  life 
As  it  rippled  and  ran  till,  right  before, 

A  great  stone  stopped  it :  oh,  the  strife 
Of  waves  at  the  stone  some  devil  threw 

In  my  life's  midcurrent,  thwarting  God  ! 


But  either  I  thought,  "  They  may  churn  and  chide 

"  Awhile,  my  waves  which  came  for  their  joy 
"  And  found  this  horrible  stone  full-tide  : 

"  Yet  I  see  just  a  thread  escape,  deploy 
"  Through  the  evening-country,  silent  and  safe, 

"  And  it  suffers  no  more  till  it  finds  the  sea." 
Or  else  I  would  think,  "  Perhaps  some  night 

"  When  new  things  happen,  a  meteor-ball 
"  May  slip  through  the  sky  in  a  line  of  light, 

"  And  earth  breathe  hard,  and  landmarks  fall, 
"  And  my  waves  no  longer  champ  nor  chafe, 

"  Since  a  stone  will  have  rolled  from  its  place :  let  be !" 


But,  dead  !     All 's  done  with  :  wait  who  may. 
Watch  and  wear  and  wonder  who  will. 

Oh,  my  whole  life  that  ends  to-day  ! 
Oh,  my  soul's  sentence,  sounding  still, 

"  The  woman  is  dead,  that  was  none  of  bis ; 

"  And  the  man,  that  was  none  of  hers,  may  go  ! " 


I 


TOO   LATE.  87 

Tliere  's  only  the  past  left :  worry  that ! 

Wreak,  like  a  bull,  on  the  empty  coat, 
Rage,  its  late  wearer  is  laughing  at ! 
Tear  the  collar  to  rags,  having  missed  his  throat ; 
Strike  stupidly  on — "This,  this  and  this, 

"  Where  I  would  that  a  bosom  received  the  blow  !  " 


I  ought  to  have  done  more  :  once  my  speech, 

And  once  your  answer,  and  there,  the  end, 
And  Edith  was  henceforth  out  of  reach  ! 

Why,  men  do  more  to  deserve  a  friend, 
Be  rid  of  a  foe,  get  rich,  grow  wise. 

Nor,  folding  their  arms,  stare  fate  in  the  face. 
Why,  better  even  have  burst  like  a  thief 

And  borne  you  away  to  a  rock  for  us  two. 
In  a  moment's  horror,  bright,  bloody  and  brief, 

Then  changed  to  myself  again — "  I  slew 
**  Myself  in  that  moment ;  a  ruffian  lies 

"  Somewhere  :  your  slave,  see,  born  in  his  place 


What  did  the  other  do  ?     You  be  judge  ! 

Look  at  us,  Edith  !  Here  are  we  both  ! 
Give  him  his  six  whole  years  :  I  grudge 

None  of  the  life  with  you,  nay,  I  loathe 
Myself  that  I  grudged  his  start  in  advance 

Of  me  who  could  overtake  and  pass. 


88  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

But,  as  if  he  loved  you !     No,  not  he. 
Nor  anyone  else  in  the  world,  't  is  plain  : 

Who  ever  heard  that  another,  free 

As  I,  young,  prosperous,  sound  and  sane, 

Poured  life  out,  proffered  it — "  Half  a  glance 
"  Of  those  eyes  of  yours  and  I  drop  the  glass  ! " 


Handsome,  were  you?     'Tis  more  than  they  held, 

More  than  they  said ;  I  was  'ware  and  watched  : 
I  was  the  'scapegrace,  this  rat  belled 

The  cat,  this  fool  got  his  whiskers  scratched  : 
The  others  ?     No  head  that  was  turned,  no  heart 

Broken,  my  lady,  assure  yourself ! 
Each  soon  made  his  mind  up  ;  so  and  so 

Married  a  dancer,  such  and  such 
Stole  his  friend's  wife,  stagnated  slow, 

Or  maundered,  unable  to  do  as  much. 
And  muttered  of  peace  where  he  had  no  part : 

While,  hid  in  the  closet,  laid  on  the  shelf, — 


On  the  whole,  you  were  let  alone,  I  think  ! 

So,  you  looked  to  the  other,  who  acquiesced  ; 
My  rival,  the  proud  man, — prize  your  pink 

Of  poets  !     A  poet  he  was  !     I  've  guessed  : 
He  rhymed  you  his  rubbish  nobody  read, 

Loved  you  and  doved  you — did  not  I  laugh  ! 


TOO   LATE.  89 

I'here  was  a  prize  !     But  we  both  were  tried. 

Oh,  heart  of  mine,  marked  broad  with  her  mark, 
Tekel,  found  wanting,  set  aside, 

Scorned  !     See,  I  bleed  these  tears  in  the  dark 
Till  comfort  come  and  the  last  be  bled  : 

He  ?     He  is  tagging  your  epitaph.  ', 


If  it  would  only  come  over  again  ! 

— Time  to  be  patient  with  me,  and  probe 
This  heart  till  you  punctured  the  proper  vein, 

Just  to  learn  what  blood  is :  twitch  the  robe 
From  that  blank  lay-figure  your  fancy  draped. 

Prick  the  leathern  heart  till  the — verses  spirt ! 
And  late  it  was  easy ;  late,  you  walked 

Where  a  friend  might  meet  you  ;  Edith's  name 
Arose  to  one's  lip  if  one  laughed  or  talked ; 

If  I  heard  good  news,  you  heard  the  same  ; 
When  I  woke,  I  knew  that  your  breath  escaped ; 

I  could  bide  my  time,  keep  alive,  alert. 


And  alive  I  shall  keep  and  long,  you  will  see  ! 

I  knew  a  man,  was  kicked  like  a  dog 
From  gutter  to  cesspool ;  what  cared  he 

So  long  as  he  picked  from  the  filth  his  prog  ? 
He  saw  youth,  beauty  and  genius  die, 

And  jollily  lived  to  his  hundredth  year.     • 


go  DRAMATIS    PERSON^E. 

But  I  will  live  otherwise  :  none  of  such  life  ! 

At  once  I  begin  as  I  mean  to  end. 
Go  on  with  the  world,  get  gold  in  its  strife, 

Give  your  spouse  the  slip  and  betray  your  friend  ! 
There  are  two  who  decline,  a  woman  and  I, 

And  enjoy  our  death  in  the  darkness  here. 


I  liked  that  way  you  had  with  your  curls 

Wound  to  a  ball  in  a  net  behind : 
Your  cheek  was  chaste  as  a  quaker-girl's, 

And  your  mouth — there  was  never,  to  my  mind, 
Such  a  funny  mouth,  for  it  would  not  shut ; 

And  the  dented  chin  too — what  a  chin  ! 
There  were  certain  ways  when  you  spoke,  some  words 

That  you  know  you  never  could  pronounce  : 
You  were  thin,  however  ;  like  a  bird's 

Your  hand  seemed — some  would  say,  the  pounce 
Of  a  scaly-footed  hawk — all  but ! 

The  world  was  right  when  it  called  you  thin. 


But  I  turn  my  back  on  the  world :  I  take 
Your  hand,  and  kneel,  and  lay  to  my  lips. 

Bid  me  live,  EdithJ     I>et  me  slake 

Thirst  at  your  presence  !     Fear  no  slips  ! 

'T  is  your  slave  shall  pay,  while  his  soul  endures. 
Full  due,  love's  whole  debt,  suuunum  Jus. 


TOO   LATE.  91 

Aly  queen  shall  have  high  observance,  planned 

Courtship  made  perfect,  no  least  line 
Crossed  without  warrant.     There  you  stand, 

Warm  too,  and  white  too :  would  this  wine 
Had  washed  all  over  that  body  of  yours, 

Ere  I  drank  it,  and  you  down  with  it,  thus  ! 


ABT   VOGLER. 

(AFTER   HE   HAS   BEEN   EXTEMPORIZING   UPON   THE   MUSICAL 
INSTRUMENT  OF   HIS    INVENTION.) 


I. 

Would  that  the  structure  brave,  the  manifold  music  I 
build, 
Bidding  my  organ  obey,  calling  its  keys  to  their  work, 
Claiming  each  slave  of  the  sound,  at  a  touch,  as  when 
Solomon  willed 
Armies  of  angels  that  soar,  legions  of  demons  that  lurk, 
Man,  brute,  reptile,  fly, — alien  of  end  and  of  aim, 
Adverse,  each  from   the  other  heaven-high,  hell-deep 
removed, — 
Should  rush  into  sight  at  once  as  he  named  the  ineffable 
Name, 
And  pile  him  a  palace  straight,  to  pleasure  the  princess 
he  loved  ! 


ABT   VOGLER.  93 

II. 

ivVould  it  might  tarry  like  his,  the  beautiful  building  of 
mine, 
This  which  my  keys  in  a  crowd  pressed  and  importuned 
to  raise  ! 

\h,  one  and  all,  how  they  helped,  would  dispart  now  and 
now  combine. 
Zealous  to  hasten  the  work,  heighten  their  master  his 
praise  ! 

(\.nd  one  would  bury  his  brow  with  a  blind  plunge  down 
to  hell, 
Burrow  awhile  and  build,  broad  on  the  roots  of  things, 
Then   up  again  swim  into  sight,  having   based  me  my 
palace  well, 
Founded  it,  fearless  of  flame,  flat  on  the  nether  springs. 

III. 

And  another  would  mount  and  march,  like  the  excellent 
minion  he  was, 
Ay,  another  and  yet  another,  one  crowd  but  with  many 
a  crest, 
Raising  my  rampired  walls  of  gold  as  transparent  as  glass, 
Eager  to  do  and  die,  yield  each  his  place  to  the  rest : 
For  higher  still  and  higher  {as  a  runner  tips  with  fire, 
When  a  great  illumination  surprises  a  festal  night — 
Outlining  round  and  round  Rome's  dome  from  space  to 
spire) 
Up,  the  pinnacled  glory  reached,  and  the  pride  of  my 
soul  was  in  sight. 


94  DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

IV. 

In  sight?     Not  half!    for  it  seemed,  it  was  certain,  to^ 
match  man's  birth, 
Nature  in  turn  conceived,  obeying  an  impulse  as  I ; 
And  the  emulous  heaven  yearned  down,  made  effor 
reach  the  earth. 
As  the  earth   had   done  her  best,  in  my  passion,  to 
scale  the  sky : 
Novel  splendours   burst  forth,  grew  familiar  and  dwelt 
with  mine, 
Not  a  point  nor  peak  but  found  and  fixed  its  wandering 
star; 
Meteor-moons,  balls  of  blaze  :  and  they  did  not  pale  nor 
pine, 
For  earth  had  attained  to  heaven,  there  was  no  more 
near  nor  far. 

I 

Nay  more  ;  for  there  wanted  not  who  walked  in  the  glare 
and  glow. 
Presences  plain  in  the  place ;  or,  fresh  from  the  Pro- 
toplast, 
Furnished  for  ages  to  come,  when  a  kindlier  wind  should 
blow, 
Lured  now  to  begin  and  hve,  in  a  house  to  their  liking 
at  last; 
Or  else  the  wonderful  Dead  who  have  passed  through  the 
body  and  gone. 
But  were  back  once  more  to  breathe  in  an  old  world 
worth  their  new : 


ABT   VOGLER,  95 

Wl  at  never  had  been,  was  now  j  what  was,  as  it  shall  be 
anon  : 
And  what  is, — shall  I  say,  matched  both  ?  for  I  was 
made  perfect  too. 

VI. 

All  through  my  keys  that  gave  their  sounds  to  a  wish  of 
my  soul. 
All  through  my  soul  that  praised  as  its  wish  flowed 
visibly  forth. 
All  through  music  and  me  !     For  think,  had  I  painted 
the  whole. 
Why,  there  it  had  stood,  to  see,  nor  the  process  so 
wonder-worth  : 
Had  I  written  the  same,  made  verse — still,  effect  proceeds 
from  cause, 
Ye  know  why  the  forms  are  fair,  ye  hear  how  the  tale 
is  told : 
It  is  all  triumphant  art,  but  art  in  obedience  to  laws, 
Painter  and  poet  are  proud  in  the  artist-Hst  enrolled  : — 

VII. 

But  here  is  the  finger  of  God,  a  flash  of  the  will  that 
can. 
Existent  behind  all  laws,  that  made  them  and,  lo,  they 
are  ! 
And  I  know  not  if,  save  in  this,  such  gift  be  allowed  to 
man. 
That  out  of  three  sounds  he  frame,  not  a  fourth  sound, 
but  a  star. 


4 

9^  DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

Consider  it  well:    each  tone  of  our  scale  in  itself  is 
nought ; 
It  is  everywhere  in  the  world— loud,  soft,  and  all  i; 
said: 
Give  it  to  me  to  use  !      I  mix  it  with  two  in  my  thought 
And,  there  !     Ye  have  heard  and  seen  :  consider  and 
bow  the  head  ! 

VIII. 

Well,  it  is  gone  at  last,  the  palace  of  music  I  reared  ; 
Gone  !  and  the  good  tears  start,  the  praises  that  come 
too  slow ; 
For  one  is  assured  at  first,  one  scarce  can  say  that  he 
feared, 
That  he  even  gave  it  a  thought,  the  gone  thing  \va^ 
to  go. 
Never  to  be  again  !     But  many  more  of  the  kind 

As  good,  nay,  better  perchance  :  is  this  your  comfort 
to  me? 
To  me,  who  must  be  saved  because  I  cling  with  my  mind 
To  the  same,  same  self,  same  love,  same  God :    ay, 
what  was,  shall  be. 

IX, 

Therefore  to  whom  turn  I    but   to  thee,  the   ineffable 

Name? 
Builder   and   maker,  thou,  of  houses  not  made  with 

hands ! 
What,  have  fear  of  change  from  thee  who  art  ever  the 

same  ? 


ABT   VOGLER.  97 

Doubt   that  Tl^y  power  can  fill  the  heart   that   Thy 
power  expands  ? 
There  shall  never  be  one  lost  good  !     What  was,  shall 
live  as  before ; 
The  evil  is  null,  is  nought,  is  silence  implying  sound ; 
What  was  good,  shall  be  good,  with,  for  evil,  so  much 
good  more ; 
On  the  earth  the  broken  arcs  ;  in  the  heaven,  a  perfect 
round. 

X. 

All  we  have  willed  or  hoped  or  dreamed  of  good,  shall 
exist ; 
Not  its  semblance,  but  itself;   no  beauty,  nor  good, 
nor  power 
Whose  voice  has  gone  forth,  but  each  survives  for  the 
melodist 
When  eternity  affirms  the  conception  of  an  hour. 
The  high  that  proved  too  high,  the  heroic  for  earth  too 
hard. 
The   passion   that  left   the   ground  to  lose   itself  in 
the  sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  bard  ; 
Enough  that  he  heard  it  once  :  we  shall  hear  it  by- 
and-by. 

XI. 

And  what  is  our  failure  here  but  a  triumph's  evidence 
For  the  fulness  of  the  days?     Have  we  withered  or 
agonized  ? 

VOL   VI.  y 


98  DRAMATIS    PERSON /E. 

Why  else  was    the   pause    prolonged  but  that  singiiv 
might  issue  thence  ? 
Why  rushed  the  discords  in,  but  that  harmony  should 
be  prized  ? 
Sorrow  is  hard  to  bear,  and  doubt  is  slow  to  clear. 

Each  sufferer  says  his  say,  his   scheme  of  the   weal 
and  woe : 
But  God  has  a  few  of  us  whom  he  whispers  in  the  ear ; 
The  rest  may  reason  and  welcome  :  't  is  we  musicians 
know. 

XII. 

Well,  it  is  earth  with  me  ;  silence  resumes  her  reign  : 

I  will  be  patient  and  proud,  and  soberly  acquiesce. 
Give  me  the  keys.     I  feel  for  the  common  chord  again, 

Sliding  by  semitones,  till  I  sink  to  the  minor, — yes. 
And  I  blunt  it  into  a  ninth,  and  I  stand  on  alien  ground. 

Surveying  awhile  the  heights  I  rolled  from  into  the 
deep ; 
Which,  hark,  I  have  dared  and  done,  for  my  resting-place 
is  found, 

The  C  Major  of  this  life :  so,  now  I  will  try  to  sleep. 


RABBI     BEN     EZRA. 


Grow  old  along  with  me ! 

The  best  is  yet  to  be, 

The  last  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made  : 

Our  times  are  in  His  hand 

Who  saith  "  A  whole  I  planned, 

"  Youth  shows  but  half;  trust  God  :  see  all,  nor  be  afraid  !" 


Not  that,  amassing  flowers. 
Youth  sighed  "Which  rose  make  ours, 
"  Which  lily  leave  and  then  as  best  recall  ?  " 
Not  that,  admiring  stars, 
It  yearned  "  Nor  Jove,  nor  Mars  ; 

"  Mine  be  some  figured  flame  which  blends,  transcends 
them  all ! " 


k 


lOO  DRAMATIS   PERSON^E. 


III. 

Not  for  such  hopes  and  fears 

AnnuUing  youth's  brief  years, 

Do  I  remonstrate  :  folly  wide  the  mark  1 

Rather  I  prize  the  doubt 

Low  kinds  exist  without, 

Finished  and  finite  clods,  untroubled  by  a  spark. 


IT. 

i'oor  vaunt  of  life  indeed, 
Were  man  but  formed  to  feed 
On  joy,  to  solely  seek  and  find  and  feast : 
Such  feasting  ended,  then 
As  sure  an  end  to  men  ; 
Irks   care   the   crop-full   bird?     Frets   doubt  the   mav 
crammed  beast  ? 


▼. 

Rejoice  we  are  allied 
To  That  which  doth  provide 
And  not  partake,  effect  and  not  receive  ! 
A  spark  disturbs  our  clod  ; 
Nearer  we  hold  of  God 

Who    gives,   than    of    His    tribes    that    take,    I    must 
believe. 


RABBI    BEN    EZRA. 


VI. 

Then,  welcome  each  rebuff" 
That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough, 
Each  sting  that  bids  nor  sit  nor  stand  but  go  ! 
Be  our  joys  three-parts  pain  ! 
Strive,  and  hold  cheap  the  strain  ; 

Learn,  nor  account  the  pang;  dare,  never  grudge  the 
throe ! 


VII. 

For  thence, — a  paradox 
Which  comforts  while  it  mocks, — 
Shall  life  succeed  in  that  it  seems  to  fail : 
What  I  aspired  to  be, 
And  was  not,  comforts  me  : 

A  brute  I  might  have  been,  but  would  not  sink  i'  the 
scale. 


vin. 

What  is  he  but  a  brute 

Whose  flesh  hath  soul  to  suit, 

Whose  spirit  works  lest  arms  and  legs  want  play  ? 

To  man,  propose  this  test — 

Thy  body  at  its  best, 

How  far  can  that  project  thy  soul  on  its  lone  way  ? 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


Yet  gifts  should  prove  their  use  : 
I  own  the  Past  profuse 
Of  power  each  side,  perfection  every  turn : 
Eyes,  ears  took  in  their  dole. 
Brain  treasured  up  the  whole ; 

Should  not  the  heart  beat  once  "  How  good  to  live  and 
learn?" 


Not  once  beat  "  Praise  be  Thine  ! 
"  I  see  the  whole  design, 
"  I,  who  saw  power,  see  now  Love  perfect  too : 
"  Perfect  I  call  Thy  plan  : 
"  Thanks  that  I  was  a  man ! 

"  Maker,  remake,  complete, — I   trust  what  Thou  shait 
do!" 


For  pleasant  is  this  flesh ; 

Our  soul,  in  its  rose-mesh 

Pulled  ever  to  the  earth,  still  yearns  for  rest : 

Would  we  some  prize  might  hold 

To  match  those  manifold 

Possessions  of  the  brute, — gain  most,  as  we  did  best ! 


RABBI    BEN    EZRA.  I03 


xn. 

J  ,et  us  not  always  say 
'•  Spite  of  this  flesh  to-day 

''  I  strove,  made  head,  gained  ground  upon  the  whole  !  " 
As  the  bird  wings  and  sings. 
Let  us  cry  "All  good  things 

"  Are  ours,  nor  soul  helps  flesh   more,  now,  than  flesh 
helps  soul ! " 


XIII. 

Therefore  I  summon  age 
To  grant  youth's  heritage, 
Life's  struggle  having  so  far  reached  its  term  . 
Thence  shall  I  pass,  approved 
A  man,  for  aye  removed 

From   the   developed    brute;    a    God    though    in    the 
germ. 


XIV. 

And  I  shall  thereupon 

Take  rest,  ere  I  be  gone 

Once  more  on  my  adventure  brave  and  new  : 

Fearless  and  unperplexed, 

When  I  wage  battle  next, 

What  weapons  to  select,  what  armour  to  indue. 


I04  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 


XV. 

Youth  ended,  I  shall  try 

My  gain  or  loss  thereby ; 

Leave  the  fire  ashes,  what  survives  is  gold  : 

And  I  shall  weigh  the  same, 

Give  life  its  praise  or  blame  : 

Young,  all  lay  in  dispute ;  I  shall  know,  being  old. 


XVI. 

For  note,  when  evening  shuts, 

A  certain  moment  cuts 

The  deed  off,  calls  the  glory  from  the  grey : 

A  whisper  from  the  west 

Shoots — "  Add  this  to  the  rest, 

"  Take  it  and  try  its  worth  :  here  dies  another  day." 


So,  still  within  this  life, 

Though  lifted  o'er  its  strife. 

Let  me  discern,  compare,  pronounce  at  last, 

"  This  rage  was  right  i'  the  main, 

*'  That  acquiescence  vain  : 

"  The  Future  I  may  face  now  I  have  proved  the  Past." 


RABBI    BEN    EZRA.  I05 


For  more  is  not  reserved 

To  man,  with  soul  just  nerved 

To  act  to-morrow  what  he  learns  to-day  : 

Here,  work  enough  to  watch 

The  Master  work,  and  catch 

Hints  of  the  proper  craft,  tricks  of  the  tool's  true  play. 


As  it  was  better,  youth 

Should  strive,  through  acts  uncouth, 

Toward  making,  than  repose  on  aught  found  made  ! 

So,  better,  age,  exempt 

From  strife,  should  know,  than  tempt 

Further.    Thou  waitedst  age  :  wait  death  nor  be  afraid  ! 


XX. 

i  Enough  now,  if  the  Right 

And  Good  and  Infinite 

Be  named  here,  as  thou  callest  thy  hand  thine  own. 

With  knowledge  absolute, 
;■  Subject  to  no  dispute 

From  fools  that  crowded  youth,  nor  let  thee  feel  alone. 


I06  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 


Be  there,  for  once  and  all, 

Severed  great  minds  from  small, 

Announced  to  each  his  station  in  the  Past ! 

Was  I,  the  world  arraigned, 

Were  they,  my  soul  disdained. 

Right  ?  Let  age  speak  the  truth  and  give  us  peace  at  last ! 


XXII. 

Now,  who  shall  arbitrate  ? 

Ten  men  love  what  I  hate. 

Shun  what  I  follow,  slight  what  I  receive  ; 

Ten,  who  in  ears  and  eyes 

Match  me  :  we  all  surmise. 

They,  this  thing,  and  1,  that :  whom  shall  my  soul  believe  ? 


XXUI. 

Not  on  the  vulgar  mass 

Called  "  work,"  must  sentence  pass. 

Things  done,  that  took  the  eye  and  had  the  price ; 

O'er  which,  from  level  stand, 

The  low  world  laid  its  hand. 

Found  straightway  to  its  mind,  could  value  in  a  trice  : 


RABBI    BEN    EZRA.  I07 
XXIV. 

But  all,  the  world's  coarse  thumb  f 

And  finger  failed  to  plumb,  / 

So  passed  in  making  up  the  main  account ;  [ 

All  instincts  immature,  1 

All  purposes  unsure,  ' 

Tliat  weighed  not  as  his  work,  yet  swelled  the  man's 
amount : 


XXV. 

Thoughts  hardly  to  be  packed 

Into  a  narrow  act. 

Fancies  that  broke  through  language  and  escaped  ; 

All  I  could  never  be, 

All,  men  ignored  in  me. 

This,  I  was  worth  to  God,  whose  wheel  the  pitcher  shaped. 


XXVI. 

Ay,  note  that  Potter's  wheel. 
That  metaphor  !  and  feel 

Why  time  spins  fast,  why  passive  lies  our  clay, — 
Thou,  to  whom  fools  propound, 
When  the  wine  makes  its  round, 

"  Since  life  fleets,  all  is  change ;   the  Past  gone,  seize 
to-day  !  " 


Io8  DRAMATIS   PERSONif;. 


XXVII. 

Fool !    All  that  is,  at  all, 

Lasts  ever,  past  recall ; 

Earth  changes,  but  thy  soul  and  God  stand  sure : 

What  entered  into  thee, 

77/a/  was,  is,  and  shall  be  : 

Time's  wheel  runs  back  or  stops :  Potter  and  clay  endure 


XXVIII. 

He  fixed  thee  mid  this  dance 

Of  plastic  circumstance, 

This  Present,  thou,  forsooth,  wouldst  fain  arrest : 

Machinery  just  meant 

To  give  thy  soul  its  bent, 

Try  thee  and  turn  thee  forth,  sufficiently  impressed. 


xxix. 

What  though  the  earlier  grooves 

Which  ran  the  laughing  loves 

Around  thy  base,  no  longer  pause  and  press  ? 

What  though,  about  thy  rim, 

Scull-things  in  order  grim 

Grow  out,  in  graver  mood,  obey  the  sterner  stress  ? 


RABBI    BEN    EZRA.  IO9 


XXX. 

Look  not  thou  down  but  up  ! 
To  uses  of  a  cup, 

The  festal  board,  lamp's  flash  and  trumpet's  peal, 
The  new  wine's  foaming  flow, 
The  Master's  lips  a-glow  ! 

Thou,  heaven's  consummate  cup,  what  needst  thou  with 
earth's  wheel  ? 


XXXI. 

But  I  need,  now  as  then, 

Thee,  God,  who  mouldest  men  ; 

And  since,  not  even  while  the  whirl  was  worst, 

Did  I, — to  the  wheel  of  life 

With  shapes  and  colours  rife. 

Bound  dizzily, — mistake  my  end,  to  slake  Thy  thirst : 


xxxn. 

So,  take  and  use  Thy  work  : 

Amend  what  flaws  may  lurk. 

What  strain  o'  the  stuff",  what  warpings  past  the  aim  ! 

My  times  be  in  Thy  hand  ! 

Perfect  the  cup  as  planned  ! 

Let  age  approve  of  youth,  and  death  complete  the  same  ! 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT. 


[Supposed  of  Pamphylax  the  Antiochene  : 
It  is  a  parchment,  of  my  rolls  the  fifth, 
Hath  three  skins  glued  together,  is  all  Greek, 
And  goeth  from  Epsilon  down  to  Mu  : 
Lies  second  in  the  surnamed  Chosen  Chest, 
Stained  and  conserved  with  juice  of  terebinth, 
Covered  with  cloth  of  hair,  and  lettered  Xi, 
From  Xanthus,  my  wife's  uncle,  now  at  peace ; 
Mu  and  Epsilon  stand  for  my  own  name, 
I  may  not  write  it,  but  I  make  a  cross 
To  show  I  wait  His  coming,  with  the  rest. 
And  leave  oflf  here  :  beginneth  Pamphylax.] 

I  said,  "  If  one  should  wet  his  lips  with  wine, 

"  And  slip  the  broadest  plantain-leaf  we  find, 

"  Or  else  the  lappet  of  a  linen  robe, 

"  Into  the  water-vessel,  lay  it  right, 

"  And  cool  his  forehead  just  above  the  eyes, 


A   DEATH    IN   THE   DESERT,  T 

•  The  while  a  brother,  kneeling  either  side, 
"  Should  chafe  each  hand  and  try  to  make  it  warm, — 
"  He  is  not  so  far  gone  but  he  might  speak." 

This  did  not  happen  in  the  outer  cave, 
Nor  in  the  secret  chamber  of  the  rock, 
\Vhere,  sixty  days  since  the  decree  was  out, 
We  had  him,  bedded  on  a  camel-skin, 
And  waited  for  his  dying  all  the  while  ; 
But  in  the  midmost  grotto  :  since  noon's  light 
Reached  there  a  little,  and  we  would  not  lose 
The  last  of  what  might  happen  on  his  face. 

I  at  the  head,  and  Xanthus  at  the  feet. 

With  Valens  and  the  Boy,  had  lifted  him, 

And  brought  him  from  the  chamber  in  the  depths, 

And  laid  him  in  the  light  where  we  might  see  : 

For  certain  smiles  began  about  his  mouth, 

And  his  lids  moved,  presageful  of  the  end. 

Beyond,  and  half  way  up  the  mouth  o'  the  cave, 
The  Bactrian  convert,  having  his  desire. 
Kept  watch,  and  made  pretence  to  graze  a  goat 
That  gave  us  milk,  on  rags  of  various  herb. 
Plantain  and  quitch,  the  rocks'  shade  keeps  alive : 
So  that  if  any  thief  or  soldier  passed, 
(Because  the  persecution  was  aware) 
Yielding  the  goat  up  promptly  with  his  life. 
Such  man  might  pass  on,  joyful  at  a  prize, 


112  DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

Nor  care  to  pry  into  the  cool  o'  the  cave. 
Outside  was  all  noon  and  the  burning  blue. 

"  Here  is  wine,"  answered  Xanthus, — dropped  a  drop  ; 

I  stooped  and  placed  the  lap  of  cloth  aright, 

Then  chafed  his  right  hand,  and  the  Boy  his  left : 

But  Valens  had  bethought  him,  and  produced 

And  broke  a  ball  of  narrj,  and  made  perfume. 

Only,  he  did — not  so  much  wake,  as — turn 

And  smile  a  little,  as  a  sleeper  does 

If  any  dear  one  call  him,  touch  his  face — 

And  smiles  and  loves,  but  will  not  be  disturbed. 

Then  Xanthus  said  a  prayer,  but  still  he  slept : 

It  is  the  Xanthus  that  escajDed  to  Rome, 

Was  burned,  and  could  not  write  the  chronicle. 

Then  the  Boy  sprang  up  from  his  knees,  and  ran. 
Stung  by  the  splendour  of  a  sudden  thought, 
And  fetched  the  seventh  plate  of  graven  lead 
Out  of  the  secret  chamber,  found  a  place, 
Pressing  with  finger  on  the  deeper  dints, 
And  spoke,  as  'twere  his  mouth  proclaiming  first, 
"  I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life." 

Whereat  he  opened  his  eyes  wide  at  once, 
And  sat  up  of  himself,  and  looked  at  us  ; 
And  thenceforth  nobody  pronounced  a  word  : 
Only,  outside,  the  Bactrian  cried  his  cry 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  II3 

T.ike  the  lone  desert-bird  that  wears  the  ruff, 
As  signal  we  were  safe,  from  time  to  time. 

1  irst  he  said,  "  If  a  friend  declared  to  me, 

''  This  my  son  Valens,  this  my  other  son, 

"  Were  James  and  Peter, — nay,  declared  as  well 

"  This  lad  was  very  John, — I  could  believe  ! 

"  — Could,  for  a  moment,  doubtlessly  believe  : 

"  So  is  myself  withdrawn  into  my  depths, 

"  The  soul  retreated  from  the  perished  brain 

*'  Whence  it  was  wont  to  feel  and  use  the  world 

"  Through  these  dull  members,  done  with  long  ago. 

"  Yet  I  myself  remain ;  I  feel  myself: 

"  And  there  is  nothing  lost.     Let  be,  awhile  !  " 

[This  is  the  doctrine  he  was  wont  to  teach, 

How  divers  persons  witness  in  each  man, 

Three  souls  which  make  up  one  soul :  first,  to  wit, 

A  soul  of  each  and  all  the  bodily  parts. 

Seated  therein,  which  works,  and  is  what  Does, 

And  has  the  use  of  earth,  and  ends  the  man 

Downward  :  but,  tending  upward  for  advice. 

Grows  into,  and  again  is  grown  into 

By  the  next  soul,  which,  seated  in  the  brain, 

Useth  the  first  with  its  collected  use. 

And  feeleth,  thinketh,  willeth, — is  what  Knows  : 

Which,  duly  tending  upward  in  its  turn. 

Grows  into,  and  again  is  grown  into 

By  the  last  soul,  that  uses  both  the  first, 

VOL.  VI.  a 


114  DRAMATIS    PERSON^e, 

Subsisting  whether  they  assist  or  no, 

And,  constituting  man's  self,  is  what  Ts — 

And  leans  upon  the  former,  makes  it  play. 

As  that  played  off  the  first :  and,  tending  up, 

Holds,  is  upheld  by,  God,  and  ends  the  man 

Upward  in  that  dread  point  of  intercourse, 

Nor  needs  a  place,  for  it  returns  to  Him. 

What  Does,  what  Knows,  what  Is ;  three  souls,  one  man. 

I  give  the  glossa  of  Theotypas.] 

And  then,  "  A  stick,  once  fire  from  end  to  end  ; 

"  Now,  ashes  save  the  tip  that  holds  a  spark  ! 

"  Yet,  blow  the  spark,  it  runs  back,  spreads  itself 

"  A  little  where  the  fire  was  :  thus  I  urge 

"  The  soul  that  served  me,  till  it  task  once  more 

"  What  ashes  of  my  brain  have  kept  their  shape, 

"  And  these  make  effort  on  the  last  o'  the  flesh, 

"  Trying  to  taste  again  the  truth  of  things — " 

(He  smiled) — "  their  very  superficial  truth  ; 

"  As  that  ye  are  my  sons,  that  it  is  long 

"  Since  James  and  Peter  had  release  by  death, 

"  And  I  am  only  he,  your  brother  John, 

"  Who  saw  and  heard,  and  could  remember  all. 

"  Remember  all !     It  is  not  much  to  say. 

"  What  if  the  truth  broke  on  me  from  above 

"  As  once  and  oft-times  ?     Such  might  hap  again  : 

"  Doubtlessly  He  might  stand  in  presence  here, 

"  With  head  wool-white,  eyes,  flame,  and  feet  like  brass, 

"  The  sword  and  the  seven  stars,  as  I  have  seen  — 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  11$ 

1  who  now  shudder  only  and  surmise 
"  '  How  did  your  brother  bear  that  sight  and  Hve  ? ' 

"  If  I  hve  yet,  it  is  for  good,  more  love 

"  Through  me  to  men  :  be  nought  but  ashes  here 

*'  That  keep  awhile  my  semblance,  who  was  John, — 

"  Still,  when  they  scatter,  there  is  left  on  earth 

"  No  one  alive  who  knew  (consider  this  !) 

"  — Saw  with  his  eyes  and  handled  with  his  hands 

"  That  which  was  from  the  first,  the  Word  of  Life. 

"  How  will  it  be  when  none  more  saith  '  I  saw  ? ' 

"  Such  ever  was  love's  way  :  to  rise,  it  stoops. 

"  Since  I,  whom  Christ's  mouth  taught,  was  bidden  teach, 

"  I  went,  for  many  years,  about  the  world, 

"  Saying  '  It  was  so  ;  so  I  heard  and  saw,' 

"  Speaking  as  the  case  asked  :  and  men  believed. 

"  Afterward  came  the  message  to  myself 

"  In  Patmos  isle  ;  I  was  not  bidden  teach, 

"  But  simply  listen,  take  a  book  and  write, 

"  Nor  set  down  other  than  the  given  word, 

*'  With  nothing  left  to  my  arbitrament 

•'  To  choose  or  change  :  I  wrote,  and  men  believed. 

*'  Then,  for  my  time  grew  brief,  no  message  more, 

"  No  call  to  write  again,  I  found  a  way, 

"  And,  reasoning  from  my  knowledge,  merely  taught 

"  Men  should,  for  love's  sake,  in  love's  strength,  believe ; 

"  Or  I  would  pen  a  letter  to  a  friend 

"  And  urge  the  same  as  friend,  nor  less  nor  more  : 


Il6  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

"  Friends  said  I  reasoned  rightly,  and  believed, 

"  But  at  the  last,  why,  I  seemed  left  alive 

"  Like  a  sea-jelly  weak  on  Patmos  strand, 

"  To  tell  dry  sea-beach  gazers  how  I  fared 

''  When  there  was  mid-sea,  and  the  mighty  things  ; 

"  Left  to  repeat,  '  I  saw,  I  heard,  I  knew,' 

"  And  go  all  over  the  old  ground  again, 

"  With  Antichrist  already  in  the  world, 

"  And  many  Antichrists,  who  answered  prompt 

"  '  Am  I  not  Jasper  as  thyself  art  John  ? 

"  '  Nay,  young,  whereas  through  age  thou  mayest  forget 

"  '  Wherefore,  explain,  or  how  shall  we  believe  ? ' 

"  I  never  thought  to  call  down  fire  on  such, 

"  Or,  as  in  wonderful  and  early  days, 

"  Pick  up  the  scorpion,  tread  the  serpent  dumb ; 

"  But  patient  stated  much  of  the  Lord's  life 

"  Forgotten  or  misdelivered,  and  let  it  work  : 

"  Since  much  that  at  the  first,  in  deed  and  word, 

"  Lay  simply  and  sufl[iciently  exposed, 

"  Had  grown  (or  else  my  soul  was  grown  to  match, 

"  Fed  through  such  years,  familiar  with  such  light, 

"  Guarded  and  guided  still  to  see  and  speak) 

"  Of  new  significance  and  fresh  result ; 

"  What  first  were  guessed  as  points,  I  now  knew  stars, 

"  And  named  them  in  the  Gospel  I  have  writ. 

"  For  men  said,  '  It  is  getting  long  ago  : ' 

"  Where  is  the  promise  of  His  coming  ? ' — asked 

"  These  young  ones  in  their  strength,  as  loth  to  wait, 

"  Of  me  who,  when  their  sires  were  bom,  was  old. 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  Ity 

I,  for  I  loved  them,  answered,  joyfully, 
Since  I  was  there,  and  helpful  in  my  age  ; 
And,  in  the  main,  I  think  such  men  believed. 
Finally,  thus  endeavouring,  I  fell  sick. 
Ye  brought  me  here,  and  I  supposed  the  end, 
And  went  to  s'leep  with  one  thought  that,  at  least. 
Though  the  whole  earth  should  lie  in  wickedness. 
We  had  the  truth,  might  leave  the  rest  to  God. 
Yet  now  I  wake  in  such  decrepitude 
As  I  had  slidden  down  and  fallen  afar, 
Past  even  the  presence  of  my  former  self, 
Grasping  the  while  for  stay  at  facts  which  snap, 
Till  I  am  found  away  from  my  own  world, 
Feeling  for  foot-hold  through  a  blank  profound, 
Along  with  unborn  people  in  strange  lands. 
Who  say  —I  hear  said  or  conceive  they  say — 
'  Was  John  at  all,  and  did  he  say  he  saw? 
'  Assure  us,  ere  we  ask  what  he  might  see  ! ' 

And  how  shall  I  assure  them  ?     Can  they  share 

— They,  who  have  flesh,  a  veil  of  youth  and  strength 

About  each  spirit,  that  needs  must  bide  its  time, 

Living  and  learning  still  as  years  assist 

Which  wear  the  thickness  thin,  and  let  man  see — 

With  me  who  hardly  am  withheld  at  all, 

But  shudderingly,  scarce  a  shred  between, 

Lie  bare  to  the  universal  prick  of  light  ? 

Is  it  for  nothing  we  grow  old  and  weak. 

We  whom  God  loves  ?  When  pain  ends,  gain  ends  too. 


£t8  dramatis  person.^;. 

"  To  me,  that  story — ay,  that  Life  and  Death 

"  Of  which  I  wrote  '  it  was ' — to  me,  it  is  ; 

"  — Is,  here  and  now  :  I  apprehend  nought  else, 

'*  Is  not  God  now  i'  the  world  His  power  first  made  ? 

"  Is  not  His  love  at  issue  still  with  sin, 

"  Visibly  when  a  wrong  is  done  on  earth  ? 

"  Love,  wrong,  and  pain,  what  see  I  else  around  ? 

"  Yea,  and  the  Resurrection  and  Uprise 

"  To  the  right  hand  of  the  throne — what  is  it  beside, 

*'  When  such  truth,  breaking  bounds,  o'erfloods  my  soul, 

"  And,  as  I  saw  the  sin  and  death,  even  so 

"  See  I  the  need  yet  transiency  of  both, 

"  The  good  and  glory  consummated  thence  ? 

"  I  saw  the  power  ;  I  see  the  Love,  once  weak, 

"  Resume  the  Power  :  and  in  this  word  '  I  see,' 

"  Lo,  there  is  recognized  the  Spirit  of  both 

"  That  moving  o'er  the  spirit  of  man,  unblinds 

"  His  eye  and  bids  him  look.     These  are,  I  see ; 

"  But  ye,  the  children.  His  beloved  ones  too, 

"  Ye  need, — as  I  should  use  an  optic  glass 

"  I  wondered  at  erewhile,  somewhere  i'  the  world, 

"  It  had  been  given  a  crafty  smith  to  make ; 

"  A  tube,  he  turned  on  objects  brought  too  close, 

''  Lying  confusedly  insubordinate 

"  For  the  unassisted  eye  to  master  once : 

"  Look  through  his  tube,  at  distance  now  they  lay, 

"  Become  succinct,  distinct,  so  small,  so  clear ! 

"  Just  thus,  ye  needs  must  apprehend  what  truth 

"  I  see,  reduced  to  plain  historic  fact, 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  II9 

'*  Diminished  into  clearness,  proved  a  point 

**  And  far  away  :  ye  would  withdraw  your  sense 

"  From  out  eternity,  strain  it  upon  time, 

*'  Then  stand  before  that  fact,  that  Life  and  Death, 

"  Stay  there  at  gaze,  till  it  dispart,  dispread, 

"  As  though  a  star  should  open  out,  all  sides, 

"  Grow  the  world  on  you,  as  it  is  my  world, 

"  For  life,  with  all  it  yields  of  joy  and  woe, 

*'  And  hope  and  fear, — believe  the  aged  friend, — 

"  Is  just  our  chance  o'  the  prize  of  learning  love, 

"  How  love  might  be,  hath  been  indeed,  and  is  ; 

"  And  that  we  hold  thenceforth  to  the  uttermost 

"  Such  prize  despite  the  envy  of  the  world, 

"  And,  having  gained  truth,  keep  truth  :  that  is  all. 

"  But  see  the  double  way  wherein  we  are  led, 

"  How  the  soul  learns  diversely  from  the  flesh  ! 

"  ^^'ith  flesh,  that  hath  so  little  time  to  stay, 

"  And  yields  mere  basement  for  the  soul's  emprise, 

"  Expect  prompt  teaching.     Helpful  was  the  light, 

"  And  warmth  was  cherishing  and  food  was  choice 

"  To  every  man's  flesh,  thousand  years  ago, 

"  As  now  to  yours  and  mine;  the  body  sprang 

"  At  once  to  the  height,  and  stayed  :  but  the  soul, — no  ! 

"  Since  sages  who,  this  noontide,  meditate 

"  In  Rome  or  Athens,  may  descry  some  point 

"  Of  the  eternal  power,  hid  yestereve  ; 

"  And,  as  thereby  the  power's  whole  mass  extends, 

*'  So  much  extends  the  aether  floating  o'er 


120  DRAMATIS    PERSON/E, 

"  The  love  that  tops  the  might,  the  Christ  in  God. 

"  Then,  as  new  lessons  shall  be  learned  in  these 

"  Till  earth's  work  stop  and  useless  time  run  out, 

"  So  duly,  daily,  needs  provision  be 

"  For  keeping  the  soul's  prowess  possible, 

"  Building  new  barriers  as  the  old  decay, 

"  Saving  us  from  evasion  of  life's  proof, 

"  Putting  the  question  ever,  *  Does  God  love, 

"  '  And  will  ye  hold  that  truth  against  the  world  ?' 

"  Ve  know  there  needs  no  second  proof  with  good 

"  Gained  for  our  flesh  from  any  earthly  source  : 

"  We  might  go  freezing,  ages, — give  us  tire, 

"  Thereafter  we  judge  fire  at  its  full  worth, 

"  And  guard  it  safe  through  every  chance,  ye  know  ! 

"  That  fable  of  Prometheus  and  his  theft, 

"  How  mortals  gained  Jove's  fiery  flower,  grows  old 

"  (I  have  been  used  to  hear  the  pagans  own) 

"  And  out  of  mind  ;  but  fire,  howe'er  its  birth, 

"  Here  is  it,  precious  to  the  sophist  now 

"  Who  laughs  the  myth  of  JEschylus  to  scorn, 

"  As  precious  to  those  satyrs  of  his  play, 

•'  Who  touched  it  in  gay  wonder  at  the  thing. 

"  While  were  it  so  with  the  soul, — this  gift  of  truth 

"  Once  grasped,  were  this  our  soul's  gain  safe,  and  sure 

"  To  prosper  as  the  body's  gain  is  wont, — 

'  Why,  man's  probation  would  conclude,  his  earth 

"  Crumble;  for  he  both  reasons  and  decides, 

"  Weighs  first,  then  chooses  :  will  he  give  up  fire 

**  For  gold  or  purple  once  he  knows  its  worth  ? 


A     DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  121 

"  Could  he  give  Christ  up  were  His  worth  as  plain  ? 

"  Therefore,  I  say,  to  test  man,  the  proofs  shift, 

"  Nor  may  he  grasp  that  fact  like  other  fact, 

"  And  straightway  in  his  life  acknowledge  it, 

"  As,  say,  the  indubitable  bliss  of  fire. 

"  Sigh  ye,  'It  had  been  easier  once  than  now  ? ' 

"  To  give  you  answer  I  am  left  alive ; 

"  Look  at  me  who  was  present  from  the  first ! 

"  Ye  know  what  things  I  saw ;  then  came  a  test, 

"  My  first,  befitting  me  who  so  had  seen  : 

"  '  Forsake  the  Christ  thou  sawest  transfigured,  Him 

'*  '  Who  trod  the  sea  and  brought  the  dead  to  life  ? 

"  *  What  should  wring  this  from  thee !' — ye  laugh  and  ask. 

"  What  wrung  it  ?     Even  a  torchlight  and  a  noise, 

"  The  sudden  Roman  faces,  violent  hands, 

"  And  fear  of  what  the  Jews  might  do  !     Just  that, 

"  And  it  is  written,  *  I  forsook  and  fled  : ' 

"  There  was  my  trial,  and  it  ended  thus. 

"  Ay,  but  my  soul  had  gained  its  truth,  could  grow  : 

"  Another  year  or  two, — what  little  child, 

"  What  tender  woman  that  had  seen  no  least 

"  Of  all  my  sights,  but  barely  heard  them  told, 

"  Who  did  not  clasp  the  cross  with  a  light  laugh, 

"  Or  wrap  the  burning  robe  round,  thanking  God  ? 

"  Well,  was  truth  safe  for  ever,  then  ?     Not  so. 

"  Already  had  begun  the  silent  work 

"  Whereby  truth,  deadened  of  its  absolute  blaze, 

"  Might  need  love's  eye  to  pierce  the  o'erstretched  doubt. 

"  Teachers  were  busy,  whispering  '  All  is  true 


122  DRAMATIS    PERSON.E. 

"  '  As  the  aged  ones  report ;  but  youth  can  reach 

"  '  Where  age  gropes  dimly,  weak  with  stir  and  strain, 

"  '  And  the  full  doctrine  slumbers  till  to-day.' 

"  Thus,  what  the  Roman's  lowered  spear  was  found, 

"  A  bar  to  me  who  touched  and  handled  truth, 

"  Now  proved  the  glozing  of  some  new  shrewd  tongue, 

"  This  Ebion,  this  Cerinthus  or  their  mates, 

"  Till  imminent  was  the  outcry  '  Save  our  Christ ! ' 

"  Whereon  I  stated  much  of  the  Lord's  life 

"  Forgotten  or  misdelivered,  and  let  it  work. 

"  Such  work  done,  as  it  will  be,  what  comes  next  ? 

"  What  do  I  hear  say,  or  conceive  men  say, 

"  '  Was  John  at  all,  and  did  he  say  he  saw  ? 

"  '  Assure  us,  ere  we  ask  what  he  might  see  ! ' 

"  Is  this  indeed  a  burthen  for  late  days, 

"  And  may  I  help  to  bear  it  with  you  all, 

"  Using  my  weakness  which  becomes  your  strength  ? 

"  For  if  a  babe  were  born  inside  this  grot, 

"  Grew  to  a  boy  here,  heard  us  praise  the  sun, 

"  Yet  had  ])ut  yon  sole  glimmer  in  light's  place, — 

"  One  loving  him  and  wishful  he  should  learn, 

"  Would  much  rejoice  himself  was  blinded  first 

"  Month  by  month  here,  so  made  to  understand 

"  How  eyes,  born  darkling,  apprehend  amiss  : 

"  I  think  I  could  explain  to  such  a  child 

"  There  was  more  glow  outside  than  gleams  he  caught, 

"  Ay,  nor  need  urge  '  I  saw  it,  so  believe  ! ' 

'•  It  is  a  heavy  burthen  you  shall  bear 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  t23 

"  In  latter  days,  new  lands,  or  old  grown  strange, 

"  Left  without  me,  which  must  be  very  soon. 

"  What  is  the  doubt,  my  brothers  ?     Quick  with  it ! 

"  I  see  you  stand  conversing,  each  new  face, 

"  Either  in  fields,  of  yellow  summer  eves, 

"  On  islets  yet  unnamed  amid  the  sea  ; 

"  Or  pace  for  shelter  'neath  a  portico 

"  Out  of  the  crowd  in  some  enormous  town 

"  Where  now  the  larks  sing  in  a  solitude  ; 

"  Or  muse  upon  blank  heaps  of  stone  and  sand 

"  Idly  conjectured  to  be  Ephesus  : 

"  And  no  one  asks  his  fellow  any  more 

"  '  Where  is  the  promise  of  His  coming  ? '  but 

"  '  Was  He  revealed  in  any  of  His  lives, 

"  '  As  Power,  as  Love,  as  Influencing  Soul  ? ' 

"  Quick,  for  time  presses,  tell  the  whole  mind  out, 

"  And  let  us  ask  and  answer  and  be  saved  ! 

"  My  book  speaks  on,  because  it  cannot  pass  ; 

"  One  listens  quietly,  nor  scofts  but  pleads 

"  '  Here  is  a  tale  of  things  done  ages  since  ; 

"  '  What  truth  was  ever  told  the  second  day  ? 

"  '  Wonders,  that  would  prove  doctrine,  go  for  nought. 

"  '  Remains  the  doctrine,  love  ;  well,  we  must  love, 

"  '  And  what  we  love  most,  power  and  love  in  one, 

"  '  Let  us  acknowledge  on  the  record  here, 

"  '  Accepting  these  in  Christ :  must  Christ  then  be  ? 

"  '  Has  He  been?     Did  not  we  ourselves  make  Him  ? 

'"  '  Our  mind  receives  but  what  it  holds,  no  more. 


124  DRAMATIS    PERSONjE. 

First  of  the  love,  then  ;  we  acknowledge  Christ — 

A  proof  we  comprehend  His  love,  a  proof 

We  had  such  love  already  in  ourselves. 

Knew  first  what  else  we  should  not  recognise. 

'T  is  mere  projection  from  man's  inmost  mind, 

And,  what  he  loves,  thus  falls  reflected  back, 

Becomes  accounted  somewhat  out  of  him  ; 

He  throws  it  up  in  air,  it  drops  down  earth's, 

With  shape,  name,  story  added,  man's  old  way. 

How  prove  you  Christ  came  otherwise  at  least  ? 

Next  try  the  power :  He  made  and  rules  the  world  : 

Certes  there  is  a  world  once  made,  now  ruled, 

Unless  things  have  been  ever  as  we  see. 

Our  sires  declared  a  charioteer's  yoked  steeds 

Brought  the  sun  up  the  east  and  down  the  west, 

Which  only  of  itself  now  rises,  sets. 

As  if  a  hand  impelled  it  and  a  will, — 

Thus  they  long  thought,  they  who  had  will  and  hands 

But  the  new  question's  whisper  is  distinct, 

Wherefore  must  all  force  needs  be  like  ourselves  ? 

We  have  the  hands,  the  will ;  what  made  and  drives 

The  sun  is  force,  is  law,  is  named,  not  known. 

While  will  and  love  we  do  know  ;  marks  of  these. 

Eye-witnesses  attest,  so  books  declare — 

As  that,  to  punish  or  reward  our  race. 

The  sun  at  undue  times  arose  or  set 

Or  else  stood  still :  what  do  not  men  affirm  ? 

But  earth  requires  as  urgently  reward 

Or  punishment  to-day  as  years  ago, 


I 


A   DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  125 

'  And  none  expects  the  sun  will  interpose : 
'  Therefore  it  was  mere  passion  and  mistake, 
'  Or  erring  zeal  for  right,  which  changed  the  truth. 
'  Go  back,  far,  farther,  to  the  birth  of  things  ; 
'  Ever  the  will,  the  intelligence,  the  love, 
*  Man's  ! — which  he  gives,  supposing  he  but  finds, 
'  As  late  he  gave  head,  body,  hands  and  feet, 
'  To  help  these  in  what  forms  he  called  his  gods. 
'  First,  Jove's  brow,  Juno's  eyes  were  swept  away, 
'  But  Jove's  wrath,  Juno's  pride  continued  long ; 
'  As  last,  will,  power,  and  love  discarded  these, 
'  So  law  in  turn  discards  power,  love,  and  will. 
'  What  proveth  God  is  otherwise  at  least  ? 
'  All  else,  projection  from  the  mind  of  man  ! ' 

Nay,  do  not  give  me  wine,  for  I  am  strong, 
But  place  my  gospel  where  I  put  my  hands. 

I  say  that  man  was  made  to  grow,  not  stop  ; 

That  help,  he  needed  once,  and  needs  no  more, 

Having  grown  but  an  inch  by,  is  withdrawn  : 

For  he  hath  new  needs,  and  new  helps  to  these. 

This  imports  solely,  man  should  mount  on  each 

New  height  in  view ;  the  help  whereby  he  mounts, 

The  ladder-rung  his  foot  has  left,  may  fall, 

Since  all  things  suffer  change  save  God  the  Truth. 

Man  apprehends  Him  newly  at  each  stage 

Whereat  earth's  ladder  drops,  its  service  done ; 

And  nothing  shall  prove  twice  what  once  was  proved. 


126  DRAMATIS   PERSON^E. 

"  You  stick  a  garden-plot  with  ordered  twigs 

"  To  show  inside  lie  germs  of  herbs  unborn, 

"  And  check  the  careless  step  would  spoil  their  birth  ; 

"  But  when  herbs  wave,  the  guardian  twigs  may  go, 

"  Since  should  ye  doubt  of  virtues,  question  kinds, 

"  It  is  no  longer  for  old  twigs  ye  look, 

"  Which  proved  once  underneath  lay  store  of  seed, 

*'  But  to  the  herb's  self,  by  what  light  ye  boast, 

"  For  what  fruit's  signs  are.     This  book's  fruit  is  plain, 

"  Nor  miracles  need  prove  it  any  more. 

"  Doth  the  fruit  show  ?     Then  miracles  bade  'ware 

"  At  first  of  root  and  stem,  saved  both  till  now 

"  From  trampling  ox,  rough  boar  and  wanton  goat. 

"  What  ?     Was  man  made  a  wheelwork  to  wind  up, 

"  And  be  discharged,  and  straight  wound  up  anew  ? 

"  No  ! — grown,  his  growth  lasts ;  taught,  he  ne'er  forget 

*'  May  learn  a  thousand  things,  not  twice  the  same. 

"  This  might  be  pagan  teaching  :  now  hear  mine. 

*'  I  say,  that  as  the  babe,  you  feed  awhile, 

"  Becomes  a  boy  and  fit  to  feed  himself, 

"  So,  minds  at  first  must  be  spoon-fed  with  truth  : 

"  When  they  can  eat,  babe's  nurture  is  withdrawn. 

"  I  fed  the  babe  whether  it  would  or  no  : 

*'  I  bid  the  boy  or  feed  himself  or  starve. 

"  I  cried  once,  '  That  ye  may  believe  in  Christ, 

"  '  Behold  this  blind  man  shall  receive  his  sight ! ' 

"  I  cry  now,  *  Urgest  thou,  for  I  am  shrewd 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  1 27 

"  '  And  smile  at  stories  how  John's  ivord  could  aire — 

"  '  Repeat  that  miracle  and  take  my  faith  ?  ' 

■'  I  say,  that  miracle  was  duly  wrought 

"  When,  save  for  it,  no  faith  was  possible. 

"  Whether  a  change  were  wrought  i'  the  shows  o'  the  world, 

'*  Whether  tlie  change  came  from  our  minds  which  see 

"  Of  shows  o'  the  world  so  much  as  and  no  more 

"  Than  God  wills  for  His  purpose, — (what  do  I 

"  See  now,  suppose  you,  there  where  you  see  rock 

"  Round  us  ?) — I  know  not ;  such  was  the  effect, 

"  So  faith  grew,  making  void  more  miracles 

"  Because  too  much  :  they  would  compel,  not  help. 

"  I  say,  the  acknowledgment  of  God  in  Christ 

"  Accepted  by  thy  reason,  solves  for  thee 

"'  All  questions  in  the  earth  and  out  of  it, 

"  And  has  so  far  advanced  thee  to  be  wise. 

"  Wouldst  thou  unprove  this  to  re-prove  the  proved  ? 

"  In  life's  mere  minute,  with  power  to  use  that  proof, 

"  Leave  knowledge  and  revert  to  how  it  sprung? 

"  Thou  hast  it ;  use  it  and  forthwith,  or  die  ! 

"  For  I  say,  this  is  death  and  the  sole  death, 

"  When  a  man's  loss  comes  to  him  from  his  gain, 

"  Darkness  from  light,  from  knowledge  ignorance, 

"  And  lack  of  love  from  love  made  manifest; 

"  A  lamp's  death  when,  replete  with  oil,  it  chokes  ; 

"  A  stomach's  when,  surcharged  with  food,  it  starves. 

<'  With  ignorance  was  surety  of  a  cure. 

"  When  man,  appalled  at  nature,  questioned  first 


128  DRAMATIS    PERSON^.. 

*'  '  What  if  there  lurk  a  might  behind  this  might?' 
"  He  needed  satisfaction  God  could  give, 
"  And  did  give,  as  ye  have  the  written  word  : 
'*  But  when  he  finds  might  still  redouble  might, 
*'  Yet  asks,  '  Since  all  is  might,  what  use  of  will  ?  ' 
"  — Will,  the  one  source  of  might, — he  being  man 
"  With  a  man's  will  and  a  man's  might,  to  teach 
"  In  little  how  the  two  combine  in  large, — 
"  That  man  has  turned  round  on  himself  and  stands, 
"  Which  in  the  course  of  nature  is,  to  die. 

"  And  when  man  questioned,  *  What  if  there  be  love 
"  '  Behind  the  will  and  might,  as  real  as  they  ? ' — 
"  He  needed  satisfaction  God  could  give, 
"  And  did  give,  as  ye  have  the  written  word  : 
"  But  when,  beholding  that  love  everywhere, 
"  He  reasons,  '  Since  such  love  is  everywhere, 
"  *  And  since  ourselves  can  love  and  would  be  loved, 
"  '  We  ourselves  make  the  love,  and  Christ  was  not,'- 
*'  How  shall  ye  help  this  man  who  knows  himself, 
"  That  he  must  love  and  would  be  loved  again, 
"  Yet,  owning  his  own  love  that  proveth  Christ, 
"  Rejecteth  Christ  through  very  need  of  Him? 
"  The  lamp  o'erswims  with  oil,  the  stomach  flags 
"  Loaded  with  nurture,  and  that  man's  soul  dies. 

"  If  he  rejoin,  '  But  this  was  all  the  while 
"  '  A  trick  ;  the  fault  was,  first  of  all,  in  thee, 
"  *  Thy  story  of  the  places,  names  and  dates, 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  129 

"  *  Where,  when  and  how  the  ultimate  truth  had  rise, 

"  '  — Thy  prior  truth,  at  last  discovered  none, 

"  '  Whence  now  the  second  suffers  detriment. 

"  'What  good  of  giving  knowledge  if,  because 

"  '  O'  the  manner  of  the  gift,  its  profit  fail  ? 

"  '  And  why  refuse  what  modicum  of  help 

"  '  Had  stopped  the  after-doubt,  impossible 

"  '  r  the  face  of  truth — truth  absolute,  uniform  ? 

"  '  Why  must  I  hit  of  this  and  miss  of  that, 

"  '  Distinguish  just  as  I  be  weak  or  strong, 

"  '  And  not  ask  of  thee  and  have  answer  prompt, 

"  '  Was  this  once,  was  it  not  once  ? — then  and  now 

"  '  And  evermore,  plain  truth  from  man  to  man. 

"  '  Is  John's  procedure  just  the  heathen  bard's? 

"  '  Put  question  o(  his  famous  play  again 

"  '  How  for  the  ephemerals'  sake,  Jove's  fire  was  filchedj 

"  '  And  carried  in  a  cane  and  brought  to  earth  : 

"  '  The  fact  is  in  the  fable,  cry  the  wise, 

"  '  Mortals  obtained  the  boon,  so  much  is  fact, 

"  '  Though  fire  be  spirit  and  produced  on  earth. 

"  '  As  with  the  Titan's,  so  now  with  thy  tale  : 

"  '  Why  breed  in  us  perplexity,  mistake, 

"  '  Nor  tell  the  whole  truth  in  the  proper  words  ? ' 

"  I  answer.  Have  ye  yet  to  argue  out 

"  The  very  primal  thesis,  plainest  law, 

"  — Man  is  not  God  but  hath  God's  end  to  serve, 

"  A  mas  er  to  obey,  a  course  to  take, 

"  Somewhat  to  cast  off,  somewhat  to  become  ? 

VOL.    VI.  9 


130  DRAMATIS    PERSON.'E. 

"  Grant  this,  then  man  must  pass  from  old  to  new, 

"  From  vain  to  real,  from  mistake  to  fact, 

"  From  what  once  seemed  good,  to  what  now  proves 

best 
"  How  could  man  have  progression  otherwise  ? 
"  Before  the  point  was  mooted  '  What  is  God  ? ' 
"  No  savage  man  inquired  'What  am  myself?' 
**  Much  less  replied,  *  First,  last,  and  best  of  things.' 
"  Man  takes  that  title  now  if  he  believes 
"  Might  can  exist  with  neither  will  nor  love, 
"  In  God's  case — what  he  names  now  Nature's  Law — 
"  While  in  himself  he  recognises  love 
"  No  less  than  might  and  will :  and  rightly  takes. 
"  Since  if  man  prove  the  sole  existent  thing 
"  Where  these  combine,  whatever  their  degree, 
"  However  weak  the  might  or  will  or  love, 
"  So  they  be  found  there,  put  in  evidence, — 
"  He  is  as  surely  higher  in  the  scale 
"  Than  any  might  with  neither  love  nor  will, 
"  As  life,  apparent  in  the  poorest  midge, 
"  (When  the  faint  dust-speck  flits,  ye  guess  its  wing) 
"  Is  marvellous  beyond  dead  Atlas'  self — 
"  Given  to  the  nobler  midge  for  resting-place  ! 
"  Thus,  man  proves  best  and  highest — God,  in  fine, 
"  And  thus  the  victory  leads  but  to  defeat, 
"  The  gain  to  loss,  best  rise  to  the  worst  fall, 
"  His  life  becomes  impossible,  which  is  death. 

•*  But  if,  appealing  thence,  he  cower,  avouch 


A   DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  I3I 

"  He  is  mere  man,  and  in  humility 

"  Neither  may  know  God  nor  mistake  himself; 

"  I  point  to  the  immediate  consequence 

"  And  say,  by  such  confession  straight  he  falls 

"  Into  man's  place,  a  thing  nor  God  nor  beast, 

"  Made  to  know  that  he  can  know  and  not  more : 

"  Lower  than  God  who  knows  all  and  can  all, 

"  Higher  than  beasts  which  know  and  can  so  far 

"  As  each  beast's  limit,  perfect  to  an  end, 

"  Nor  conscious  that  they  know,  nor  craving  more ; 

"  While  man  knows  partly  but  conceives  beside, 

"  Creeps  ever  on  from  fancies  to  the  fact, 

"  And  in  this  striving,  this  converting  air 

"  Into  a  solid  he  may  grasp  and  use, 

"  Finds  progress,  man's  distinctive  mark  alone, 

"  Not  God's,  and  not  the  beasts' :  God  is,  they  are, 

"  Man  partly  is  and  wholly  hopes  to  be. 

"  Such  progress  could  no  more  attend  his  soul 

"  Were  all  it  struggles  after  found  at  first 

"  And  guesses  changed  to  knowledge  absolute, 

"  Than  motion  wait  his  body,  were  all  else 

"  Than  it  the  solid  earth  on  every  side, 

"  Where  now  through  space  he  moves  from  rest  to  rest 

"  Man,  therefore,  thus  conditioned,  must  expect 

■'  He  could  not,  what  he  knows  now,  know  at  first; 

"  What  he  considers  that  he  knows  to-day, 

"  Come  but  to-morrow,  he  will  find  misknown  ; 

"  Getting  increase  of  knowledge,  since  he  learns 

"  Because  he  lives,  which  is  to  be  a  man, 


132  DRAMATIS    PERSON'.^. 

"  Set  to  instruct  himself  by  his  past  self: 

"  First,  like  the  brute,  obliged  by  facts  to  learn, 

"  Next,  as  man  may,  obliged  by  his  own  mind, 

"  Bent,  habit,  nature,  knowledge  turned  to  law. 

"  God's  gift  was  that  man  should  conceive  of  tiuth 

"  And  yearn  to  gain  it,  catching  at  mistake, 

"  As  midway  help  till  he  reach  fact  indeed. 

"  The  statuary  ere  he  mould  a  shape 

"  Boasts  a  like  gift,  the  shape's  idea,  and  next 

"  The  aspiration  to  produce  the  same ; 

"  So,  taking  clay,  he  calls  his  shape  thereout, 

"  Cries  ever  *  Now  I  have  the  thing  I  see : ' 

"  Yet  all  the  while  goes  changing  what  was  wrought, 

"  From  falsehood  like  the  truth,  to  truth  itself. 

"  How  were  it  had  he  cried  '  1  see  no  face, 

"  '  No  breast,  no  feet  i'  the  ineffectual  clay  ?  ' 

"  Rather  commend  him  that  he  clapped  his  hands, 

"  And  laughed  *  It  is  my  shape  and  lives  again  ! ' 

"  Enjoyed  the  falsehood,  touched  it  on  to  truth, 

"  Until  yourselves  applaud  the  flesh  indeed 

"  In  what  is  still  flesh-imitating  clay. 

"  Right  m  you,  right  in  him,  such  way  be  man's ! 

"  God  only  makes  the  live  shape  at  a  jet. 

"  Will  ye  renounce  this  pact  of  creatureship  ? 

"  The  pattern  on  the  Mount  subsists  no  more, 

''  Seemed  awhile,  then  returned  to  nothingness ; 

"  But  copies,  Moses  strove  to  make  thereby, 

'■  Serve  still  and  are  replaced  as  time  requires  : 

"  By  these,  make  newest  vessels,  reach  the  type ! 


A   DEATH    IN   THE   DESERT.  133 

"  If  ye  demur,  this  judgment  on  your  head, 

'•  Never  to  reach  the  ultimate,  angels'  law, 

"  Indulging  every  instinct  of  the  soul 

"  There  where  law,  life,  joy,  impulse  are  one  thing ! 

"  Such  is  the  burthen  of  the  latest  time. 

"  I  have  survived  to  hear  it  with  my  ears, 

"  Answer  it  with  my  lips  :  does  this  suffice  ? 

"  For  if  there  be  a  further  woe  than  such, 

"  Wherein  my  brothers  struggling  need  a  hand, 

"  So  long  as  any  pulse  is  left  in  mine, 

"  May  1  be  absent  even  longer  yet, 

"  Plucking  the  blind  ones  back  from  the  abyss, 

"  Though  I  should  tarry  a  new  hundred  years  !  " 

But  he  was  dead  :  't  was  about  noon,  the  day 
Somewhat  declining  :  we  five  buried  him 
That  eve,  and  then,  dividing,  went  five  ways. 
And  I,  disguised,  returned  to  Ephesus. 

By  this,  the  cave's  mouth  must  be  filled  with  sand. 
Valens  is  lost,  I  know  not  of  his  trace ; 
The  Bactrian  was  but  a  wild  childish  man. 
And  could  not  write  nor  speak,  but  only  loved  : 
So,  lest  the  memory  of  this  go  quite. 
Seeing  that  I  to-morrow  fight  the  beasts, 
I  tell  the  same  to  Phoebas,  whom  believe ! 
For  many  look  again  to  find  that  face, 
Beloved  John's  to  whom  I  ministered, 


T34  DRAMATIS    PERSON /E. 

Somewhere  in  life  about  the  world  ;  tliey  err : 
Either  mistaking  what  was  darkly  spoke 
At  ending  of  his  book,  as  he  relates, 
Or  misconceiving  somewhat  of  this  speech 
Scattered  from  mouth  to  mouth,  as  I  suppose. 
Believe  ye  will  not  see  him  any  more 
About  the  world  with  his  divine  regard  ! 
For  all  was  as  I  say,  and  now  the  man 
Lies  as  he  lay  once,  breast  to  breast  with  God. 


[Cerinthus  read  and  mused  ;  one  added  this : 

*'  If  Christ,  as  thou  affirmest,  be  of  men 

"  Mere  man,  the  first  and  best  but  nothing  more, — 

"  Account  Him,  for  reward  of  what  He  was, 

"  Now  and  for  ever,  wretchedest  of  all. 

"  For  see  ;  Himself  conceived  of  life  as  love, 

"  Conceived  of  love  as  what  must  enter  in, 

"  Fill  up,  make  one  with  His  each  soul  He  loved  : 

"  Thus  much  for  man's  joy,  all  men's  joy  for  Him.  w 

"  Well,  He  is  gone,  thou  sayest,  to  fit  reward. 

"  But  by  this  time  are  many  souls  set  free, 

"  And  very  many  still  retained  alive  : 

"  Nay,  should  His  coming  be  delayed  awhile, 

"  Say,  ten  years  longer  (twelve  years,  some  compute) 

"  See  if,  for  every  finger  of  thy  hands, 

"  There  be  not  found,  that  day  the  world  shall  end, 

"  Hundreds  of  souls,  each  holding  by  Christ's  word 


A    DEATH    IN    THE    DESERT.  135 

"  That  He  will  grow  incorporate  with  all, 

"  With  me  as  Pamphylax,  with  him  as  John, 

"  Groom  for  each  bride  !     Can  a  mere  man  do  this  ? 

"  Yet  Christ  saith,  this  He  lived  and  died  to  do. 

"  Call  Christ,  then,  the  illimitable  God, 

^'  Or  lost ! " 

But 't  was  Cerinthus  that  is  lost.1 


CALIBAN    UPON    SETEBOS; 


NATURAL   THEOLOGY   IN  THE   ISLAND. 


['Will  sprawl,  now  that  the  heat  of  day  is  best, 
Flat  on  his  belly  in  the  pit's  much  mire, 
With  elbows  wide,  fists  clenched  to  prop  his  chin  ; 
And,  while  he  kicks  both  feet  in  the  cool  slush, 
And  feels  about  his  spine  small  eft-things  course. 
Run  in  and  out  each  arm,  and  make  him  laugh ; 
And  while  above  his  head  a  pompion-plant, 
Coating  the  cave-top  as  a  brow  its  eye, 
Creeps  down  to  touch  and  tickle  hair  and  beard, 
And  now  a  flower  drops  with  a  bee  inside. 
And  now  a  fruit  to  snap  at,  catch  and  crunch, — 
He  looks  out  o'er  yon  sea  which  sunbeams  cross 
And  recross  till  they  weave  a  spider-web, 
(Meshes  of  fire,  some  great  fish  breaks  at  times) 
And  talks  to  his  own  self,  howe'er  he  please. 
Touching  that  other,  whom  his  dam  called  God. 
Because  to  talk  about  Him,  vexes — ha, 


CALIBAN   UPON    SETEBOS.  1 37 

Could  He  but  know  !  and  time  to  vex  is  now, 
When  talk  is  safer  than  in  winter-time. 
Moreover  Prosper  and  Miranda  sleep 
In  confidence  he  drudges  at  their  task, 
And  it  is  good  to  cheat  the  pair,  and  gibe. 
Letting  the  rank  tongue  blossom  into  speech,] 

Setebos,  Setebos,  and  Setebos  ! 

'Thinketh,  He  dwelleth  i'  the  cold  o'  the  moon. 

'Thinketh  He  made  it,  with  the  sun  to  match, 
But  not  the  stars ;  the  stars  came  otherwise  ; 
Only  made  clouds,  winds,  meteors,  such  as  that : 
Also  this  isle,  what  lives  and  grows  thereon, 
And  snaky  sea  which  rounds  and  ends  the  same. 

'Thinketh,  it  came  of  being  ill  at  ease : 

He  hated  that  He  cannot  change  His  cold, 

Nor  cure  its  ache.     'Hath  spied  an  icy  fish 

That  longed  to  'scape  the  rock-stream  where  she  lived. 

And  thaw  herself  within  the  lukewarm  brine 

O'  the  lazy  sea  her  stream  thrusts  far  amid, 

A  crystal  spike  'twixt  two  warm  walls  of  wave  ; 

Only  she  ever  sickened,  found  repulse 

At  the  other  kind  of  water,  not  her  life, 

(Green-dense  and  dim-delicious,  bred  o'  the  sun) 

Flounced  back  from  bliss  she  was  not  born  to  breathe, 

And  in  her  old  bounds  buried  her  despair, 

Hating  and  loving  warmth  alike  :  so  He. 


J  38  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

'Thinketh,  He  made  thereat  the  sun,  this  isle, 

Trees  and  the  fowls  here,  beast  and  creeping  thing. 

Yon  otter,  sleek-wet,  black,  lithe  as  a  leech ; 

Yon  auk,  one  fire-eye  in  a  ball  of  foam, 

That  floats  and  feeds ;  a  certain  badger  brown 

He  hath  watched  hunt  with  that  slant  white-wedge  eye 

By  moonlight ;  and  the  pie  with  the  long  tongue 

That  pricks  deep  into  oakwarts  for  a  worm. 

And  says  a  plain  word  when  she  finds  her  prize, 

But  will  not  eat  the  ants ;  the  ants  themselves 

That  build  a  wall  of  seeds  and  settled  stalks 

About  their  hole — He  made  all  these  and  more, 

Made  all  we  see,  and  us,  in  spite  :  how  else  ? 

He  could  not.  Himself,  make  a  second  self 

To  be  His  mate  ;  as  well  have  made  Himself, 

He  would  not  make  what  he  mislikes  or  slights, 

An  eyesore  to  Him,  or  not  worth  His  pains  : 

But  did,  in  envy,  listlessness  or  sport, 

Make  what  Himself  would  fain,  in  a  manner,  be — 

Weaker  in  most  points,  stronger  in  a  few. 

Worthy,  and  yet  mere  playthings  all  the  while. 

Things  He  admires  and  mocks  too, — that  is  it. 

Because,  so  brave,  so  better  though  they  be, 

It  nothing  skills  if  He  begin  to  plague. 

Look  now,  I  melt  a  gourd-fruit  into  mash. 

Add  honeycomb  and  pods,  I  have  perceived. 

Which  bite  like  finches  when  they  bill  and  kiss, — 

Then,  when  froth  rises  bladdery,  drink  up  all, 

Quick,  quick,  till  maggots  scamper  through  my  brain  ; 


CALIBAN  UPON  SETEBOS.  139 

And  throw  me  on  my  back  i'  the  seeded  thyme, 

And  wanton,  wishing  I  were  born  a  bird. 

I'ut  case,  unable  to  be  what  I  wish, 

I  yet  could  make  a  live  bird  out  of  clay  : 

Would  not  I  take  clay,  pinch  my  Caliban 

Able  to  fly  ? — for,  there,  see,  he  hath  wings, 

And  great  comb  like  the  hoopoe's  to  admire, 

And  there,  a  sting  to  do  his  foes  offence, 

There,  and  I  will  that  he  begin  to  live, 

Fly  to  yon  rock-top,  nip  me  off  the  horns 

Of  grigs  high  up  that  make  the  merry  din. 

Saucy  through  their  veined  wings,  and  mind  me  not. 

In  which  feat,  if  his  leg  snapped,  brittle  clay, 

And  he  lay  stupid-like, — why,  I  should  laugh  ; 

And  if  he,  spying  me,  should  fall  to  weep. 

Beseech  me  to  be  good,  repair  his  wrong, 

Bid  his  poor  leg  smart  less  or  grow  again, — 

Well,  as  the  chance  were,  this  might  take  or  else 

Not  take  my  fancy :  I  might  hear  his  cry. 

And  give  the  manikin  three  legs  for  one. 

Or  pluck  the  other  off,  leave  him  like  an  egg, 

And  lessoned  he  was  mine  and  merely  clay. 

Were  this  no  pleasure,  lying  in  the  thyme. 

Drinking  the  mash,  with  brain  become  alive, 

Making  and  marring  clay  at  will  ?     So  He. 

'Thinketh,  such  shows  nor  right  nor  wrong  in  Him,  ' 
Nor  kind,  nor  cruel :  He  is  strong  and  Lord. 
'Am  strong  myselt  compared  to  yonder  crabs 


'4°  DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

That  march  now  from  the  mountain  to  the  sea , 
'Let  twenty  pass,  and  stone  the  twenty-first, 
Loving  not,  hating  not,  just  choosing  so. 
'Say,  the  first  straggler  that  boasts  purple  spots 
Shall  join  the  file,  one  pincer  twisted  off; 
'Say,  This  bruised  fellow  shall  receive  a  worm. 
And  two  worms  he  whose  nippers  end  in  red  ; 
As  it  likes  me  each  time,  I  do  :  so  He. 

Well  then,  'supposeth  He  is  good  i'  the  main, 

Placable  if  His  mind  and  ways  were  guessed, 

But  rougher  than  His  handiwork,  be  sure  ! 

Oh,  He  hath  made  things  worthier  than  Himself, 

And  envieth  that,  so  helped,  such  things  do  more 

Than  He  who  made  them  !     What  consoles  but  this  ? 

That  they,  unless  through  Him,  do  nought  at  all. 

And  must  submit :  what  other  use  in  things  ? 

'Hath  cut  a  pipe  of  pithless  elder-joint 

That,  blown  through,  gives  exact  the  scream  o'  the  jay 

When  from  her  wing  you  twitch  the  feathers  blue : 

Sound  this,  and  little  birds  that  hate  the  jay 

Flock  within  stone's  throw,  glad  their  foe  is  hurt : 

Put  case  such  pipe  could  prattle  and  boast  forsooth 

"  I  catch  the  birds,  I  am  the  crafty  thing, 

"  I  make  the  cry  my  maker  cannot  make 

"  With  his  great  round  mouth  ;   he  must  blow  through 

mine  !  " 
Would  not  I  smash  it  with  my  foot  ?     So  He. 


CALIBAN  UPON  SETEBOS.  I4I 

But  wherefore  rough,  why  cold  and  ill  at  ease  ? 

A.ha,  that  is  a  question  !     Ask,  for  that, 

What  knows,— the  something  over  Setebos 

That  made  Him,  or  He,  may  be,  found  and  fought, 

Worsted,  drove  off  and  did  to  nothing,  perchance. 

There  may  be  something  quiet  o'er  His  head, 

Out  of  His  reach,  that  feels  nor  joy  nor  grief, 

Since  both  derive  from  weakness  in  some  way. 

I  joy  because  the  quails  come  ;  would  not  joy 

Could  I  bring  quails  here  when  I  have  a  mind : 

This  Quiet,  all  it  hath  a  mind  to,  doth. 

Esteemeth  stars  the  outposts  of  its  couch, 

But  never  spends  much  thought  nor  care  that  way. 

It  may  look  up,  work  up, — the  worse  for  those 

It  works  on  !     'Careth  but  for  Setebos 

The  many-handed  as  a  cuttle-fish, 

Who,  making  Himself  feared  through  what  He  does, 

Looks  up,  first,  and  perceives  he  cannot  soar 

To  what  is  quiet  and  hath  happy  life ; 

Next  looks  down  here,  and  out  of  very  spite 

Makes  this  a  bauble-world  to  ape  yon  real, 

These  good  things  to  match  those  as  hips  do  grapes. 

T  is  solace  making  baubles,  ay,  and  sport. 

Himself  peeped  late,  eyed  Prosper  at  his  books 

areless  and  lofty,  lord  now  of  the  isle  : 
Vexed,  'stitched  a  book  of  broad  leaves,  arrow-shaped, 
vVrote  thereon,  he  knows  what,  prodigious  words  ; 
Has  peeled  a  wand  and  called  it  by  a  name  ; 
Weareth  at  whiles  for  an  enchanter's  robe 


142  DRAMATIS   PERSONS 

The  eyed  skin  of  a  supple  oncelot ; 
And  hath  an  ounce  sleeker  than  youngling  mole, 
A  four-legged  serpent  he  makes  cower  and  couch, 
Now  snarl,  now  hold  its  breath  and  mind  his  eye, 
And  saith  she  is  Miranda  and  my  wife  : 
'Keeps  for  his  Ariel  a  tall  pouch-bill  crane 
He  bids  go  wade  for  fish  and  straight  disgorge  ; 
Also  a  sea-beast,  lumj^ish,  which  he  snared, 
Blinded  the  eyes  of,  and  brought  somewhat  tame, 
And  split  its  toe-webs,  and  now  pens  the  drudge 
In  a  hole  o'  the  rock  and  calls  him  Caliban ; 
A  bitter  heart  that  bides  its  time  and  bites. 
'Plays  thus  at  being  Prosper  in  a  way, 
Taketh  his  mirth  with  make-believes  :  so  He. 

His  dam  held  that  the  Quiet  made  all  things 

Which  Setebos  vexed  only  :  'holds  not  so. 

Who  made  them  weak,  meant  weakness  He  might  vex. 

Had  He  meant  other,  while  His  hand  was  in, 

Why  not  make  horny  eyes  no  thorn  could  prick, 

Or  plate  my  scalp  with  bone  against  the  snow, 

Or  overscale  my  flesh  'neath  joint  and  joint, 

Like  an  ore's  armour  ?     Ay, — so  spoil  His  sport  ! 

He  is  the  One  now  :  only  He  doth  all. 

'Saith,  He  may  like,  perchance,  what  profits  Him. 
Ay,  himself  loves  what  does  him  good ;  but  why  ? 
'Gets  good  no  otherwise.     This  blinded  beast 
Loves  whoso  places  flesh-meat  on  his  nose, 


CALICAN  UPON  SETEBOS.  143 

But,  had  he  eyes,  would  want  no  help,  but  hate 

Or  love,  just  as  it  liked  him  :  He  hath  eyes. 

Also  it  pleaseth  Setebos  to  work, 

Use  all  His  hands,  and  exercise  much  craft, 

By  no  means  for  the  love  of  what  is  worked. 

'Tasteth,  himself,  no  finer  good  i'  the  world 

When  all  goes  right,  in  this  safe  summer-time, 

And  he  wants  little,  hungers,  aches  not  much, 

Than  trying  what  to  do  with  wit  and  strength. 

'Falls  to  make  something  :  'piled  yon  pile  of  turfs. 

And  squared  and  stuck  there  squares  of  soft  white  chalk, 

And,  with  a  fish-tooth,  scratched  a  moon  on  each. 

And  set  up  endwise  certain  spikes  of  tree. 

And  crowned  the  whole  with  a  sloth's  skull  a-top. 

Found  dead  i'  the  woods,  too  hard  for  one  to  kill. 

No  use  at  all  i'  the  work,  for  work's  sole  sake  ; 

'Shall  some  day  knock  it  down  again  :  so  He. 

'Saith  He  is  terrible  :  watch  His  feats  in  proof! 

One  hurricane  will  spoil  six  good  months'  hope. 

He  hath  a  spite  against  me,  that  I  know, 

Just  as  He  favours  Prosper,  who  knows  why  ? 

So  it  is,  all  the  same,  as  well  I  find. 

'Wove  wattles  half  the  winter,  fenced  them  firm 

With  stone  and  stake  to  stop  she-tortoises 

Crawling  to  lay  their  eggs  here :  well,  one  wave, 

Feeling  the  foot  of  Him  upon  its  neck. 

Gaped  as  a  snake  does,  lolled  out  its  large  tongue, 

And  licked  the  whole  labour  flat :  so  much  for  spite. 


M4  DRAMATIS   PERSON^E. 

'Saw  a  ball  flame  down  late  (yonder  it  lies) 

Where,  half  an  hour  before,  I  slept  i'  the  shade : 

Often  they  scatter  sparkles  :  there  is  force  ! 

'Dug  up  a  newt  He  may  have  envied  once 

And  turned  to  stone,  shut  up  inside  a  stone. 

Please  Him  and  hinder  this  ? — What  Prosper  does  ? 

Aha,  if  He  would  tell  me  how  !     Not  He  ! 

There  is  the  sport :  discover  how  or  die  ! 

All  need  not  die,  for  of  the  things  o'  the  isle 

Some  flee  afar,  some  dive,  some  run  up  trees  : 

Those  at  His  mercy, — why,  they  please  Him  most 

When  .  .  when  .  .  well,  never  try  the  same  way  twice  1 

Repeat  what  act  has  pleased,  He  may  grow  wroth. 

You  must  not  know  His  ways,  and  play  Him  off, 

Sure  of  the  issue.     'Doth  the  like  himself: 

'Spareth  a  squirrel  that  it  nothing  fears 

But  steals  the  nut  from  underneath  my  thumb, 

And  when  I  threat,  bites  stoutly  in  defence  : 

'Spareth  an  urchin  that  contrariwise, 

Curls  up  into  a  ball,  pretending  death 

For  fright  at  my  approach  :  the  two  ways  please. 

But  what  would  move  my  choler  more  than  this. 

That  either  creature  counted  on  its  life 

To-morrow  and  next  day  and  all  days  to  come, 

Saying  forsooth  in  the  inmost  of  its  heart, 

"  Because  he  did  so  yesterday  with  me, 

"  And  otherwise  with  such  another  brute, 

"  So  must  he  do  henceforth  and  always." — Ay  ? 

'Would  teach  the  reasoning  couple  what  "  must "  means  I 


CALIBAN    UPON    SETEBOS. 

'Doth  as  be  likes,  or  wherefore  Lord  ?     So  He. 

Conceiveth  all  things  will  continue  thus, 

And  we  shall  have  to  live  in  fear  of  Him 

So  long  as  He  lives,  keeps  His  strength  :  no  change, 

If  He  have  done  His  best,  make  no  new  world 

To  please  Him  more,  so  leave  off  watching  this, — 

If  He  surprise  not  even  the  Quiet's  self 

Some  strange  day, — or,  suppose,  grow  into  it 

As  grubs  grow  butterflies  :  else,  here  are  we, 

And  there  is  He,  and  nowhere  help  at  all. 

'Believeth  with  the  life,  the  pain  shall  stop. 
His  dam  held  dififerent,  that  after  death 
He  both  plagued  enemies  and  feasted  friends : 
Idly  !     He  doth  His  worst  in  this  our  life. 
Giving  just  respite  lest  we  die  through  pain, 
Saving  last  pain  for  worst, — with  which,  an  end. 
Meanwhile,  the  best  way  to  escape  His  ire 
Is,  not  to  seem  too  happy.     'Sees,  himself, 
Yonder  two  flies,  with  purple  films  and  pink. 
Bask  on  the  pompion-bell  above  :  kills  both. 
'Sees  two  black  painful  beetles  roll  their  ball 
On  head  and  tail  as  if  to  save  their  lives  : 
Moves  them  the  stick  away  they  strive  to  clear. 

Even  so,  'would  have  Him  misconceive,  suppose 
This  Caliban  strives  hard  and  ails  no  less. 
And  always,  above  all  else,  envies  Him  ; 

VOL.    VL  lO 


146  DRAMATIS    PERSON.^. 

Wherefore  he  mainly  dances  on  dark  nights, 

Moans  in  the  sun,  gets  under  holes  to  laugh. 

And  never  speaks  his  mind  save  housed  as  now : 

Outside,  'groans,  curses.     If  He  caught  me  here, 

O'erheard  this  speech,  and  asked  "  What  chucklest  at  ?  " 

'Would,  to  appease  Him,  cut  a  finger  off. 

Or  of  my  three  kid  yearlings  burn  the  best, 

Or  let  the  toothsome  apples  rot  on  tree. 

Or  push  my  tame  beast  for  the  ore  to  taste  : 

While  myself  lit  a  fire,  and  made  a  song 

And  sung  it,  "  JVAaf  I  hate,  be  consecrate 

"  To  celebrate  Thee  and  Thy  state,  no  mate 

"  For  Thee ;  what  see  for  envy  i?i  poor  me  ?  " 

Hoping  the  while,  since  evils  sometimes  mend, 

AVarts  rub  away  and  sores  are  cured  with  slime. 

That  some  strange  day,  will  either  the  Quiet  catch 

And  conquer  Setebos,  or  likelier  He 

Decrepit  may  doze,  doze,  as  good  as  die. 


[What,  what  ?    A  curtain  o'er  the  world  at  once  ! 
Crickets  stop  hissing  ;  not  a  bird — or,  yes. 
There  scuds  His  raven  that  hath  told  Him  all ! 
It  was  fool's  play,  this  prattling !     Ha  !     The  wind 
Shoulders  the  pillared  dust,  death's  house  o'  the  move, 
And  fast  invading  fires  begin  !     White  blaze — 
A   tree's   head    snaps — and   there,    there,   there,    there,      1 
there, 


CALIBAN    UPON    SETEBOS.  147 

His  thunder  follows  !     Fool  to  gibe  at  Him  ! 
Lo  !    'Lieth  flat  and  loveth  Setebos  ! 
'Maketh  his  teeth  meet  through  his  upper  lip, 
Will  let  those  quails  fly,  will  not  eat  this  month 
One  little  mess  of  whelks,  so  he  may  'scape  !] 


CONFESSIONS. 


I. 

What  is  he  buzzing  in  my  ears  ? 

"  Now  that  I  come  to  die, 
**  Do  I  view  the  world  as  a  vale  of  tears  ?  " 

Ah,  reverend  sir,  not  I ! 

II. 

What  I  viewed  there  once,  what  I  view  agaiu 

Where  the  physic  bottles  stand 
On  the  table's  edge, — is  a  suburb  lane, 

With  a  wall  to  my  bedside  hand. 

III. 
That  lane  sloped,  much  as  the  bottles  do, 

From  a  house  you  could  descry 
O'er  the  garden-wall :  is  the  curtain  blue 

Or  green  to  a  healthy  eye  ? 

IV. 

To  mine,  it  serves  for  the  old  June  weather 

Blue  above  lane  and  wall ; 
And  that  farthest  bottle  labelled  "  Ether  " 

Is  the  house  o'er-topping  all. 


CONFESSIONS.  149 


V. 

At  a  terrace,  somewhat  near  the  stopper, 
There  watched  for  me,  one  June, 

A  girl :  I  know,  sir,  it  's  improper, 
My  poor  mind  's  out  of  tune. 


Only,  there  was  a  way  .  .  you  crept 

Close  by  the  side,  to  dodge 
Eyes  in  the  house,  two  eyes  except : 

They  styled  their  house  "  The  Lodge." 

VII. 

What  right  had  a  lounger  up  their  lane  ? 

But,  by  creeping  very  close, 
With  the  good  wall's  help, — their  eyes  might  strain 

And  stretch  themselves  to  Oes, 

VIII. 

Yet  never  catch  her  and  me  together, 

As  she  left  the  attic,  there, 
By  the  rim  of  the  bottle  labelled  "  Ether," 

And  stole  from  stair  to  stair, 

IX. 

And  stood  by  the  rose-wreathed  gate.     Alas, 

We  loved,  sir — used  to  meet : 
How  sad  and  bad  and  mad  it  was — 

But  then,  how  it  was  sweet  1 


MAY    AND    DEATH. 


I. 

I  WISH  that  when  you  died  last  May, 
Charles,  there  had  died  along  with  you 

Three  parts  of  spring's  delightful  things ; 
Ay,  and,  for  me,  the  fourth  part  too. 


A  foolish  thought,  and  worse,  perhaps  ! 

There  must  be  many  a  pair  of  friends 
Who,  arm  in  arm,  deserve  the  warm 

Moon-births  and  the  long  evening-ends. 


So,  for  their  sake,  be  May  still  May  ! 

Let  their  new  time,  as  mine  of  old, 
Do  all  it  did  for  me  :  I  bid 

Sweet  sights  and  sounds  throng  manifold. 


Only,  one  little  sight,  one  plant. 

Woods  have  in  May,  that  starts  up  green 
Save  a  sole  streak  which,  so  to  speak. 

Is  spring's  blood,  spilt  its  leaves  between,- 


MAY   AND    DEATH.  I51 


V. 


That,  they  might  spare  ;  a  certain  wood 
Might  miss  the  plant ;  their  loss  were  small 

But  I, — whene'er  the  leaf  grows  there, 
Its  drop  comes  from  my  heart,  that 's  all. 


DEAF    AND    DUMB. 


A  GROUP   BY  WOOLNER. 


Only  the  prism's  obstruction  shows  aright 
The  secret  of  a  sunbeam,  breaks  its  light 
Into  the  jewelled  bow  from  blankest  white  ; 

So  may  a  glory  from  defect  arise  : 
Only  by  Deafness  may  the  vexed  Love  wreak 
Its  insuppressive  sense  on  brow  and  cheek, 
Only  by  Dumbness  adequately  speak 

As  favoured  mouth  could  never,  through  the  eyes. 


P  R  O  S  P  I  C  E. 


Fear  death  ? — to  feel  the  fog  in  my  throat, 

The  mist  in  my  face, 
When  the  snows  begin,  and  the  blasts  denote 

I  am  nearing  the  place, 
The  power  of  the  night,  the  press  of  the  storm, 

The  post  of  the  foe  ; 
Where  he  stands,  the  Arch  Fear  in  a  visible  form, 

Yet  the  strong  man  must  go  : 
For  the  journey  is  done  and  the  summit  attahied. 

And  the  barriers  fall. 
Though  a  battle  's  to  fight  ere  the  guerdon  be  gained, 

The  reward  of  it  all. 
I  was  ever  a  fighter,  so — one  fight  more. 

The  best  and  the  last ! 
I  would  hate  that  death  bandaged  my  eyes,  and  forbore, 

And  bade  me  creep  past. 
No  !  let  me  taste  the  whole  of  it,  fare  like  my  peers 

The  heroes  of  old, 
Bear  the  brunt,  in  a  minute  pay  glad  life's  arrears 

Of  pain,  darkness  and  cold. 


PROSPICE.  153 

For  sudden  the  worst  turns  the  best  to  the  brave, 

The  black  minute  's  at  end, 
And  the  elements'  rage,  the  fiend-voices  that  rave. 

Shall  dwindle,  shall  blend. 
Shall  change,  shall  become  first  a  peace  out  of  pain, 

Then  a  light,  then  thy  breast, 
O  thou  soul  of  my  soul !     I  shall  clasp  thee  again, 

And  with  God  be  the  rest ! 


EURYDICE    TO    ORPHEUS. 


A  PICTURE   BY  LEIGHTON. 


But  give  them  me,  the  mouth,  the  eyes,  the  brow  ! 
Let  them  once  more  absorb  me  !     One  look  now 

Will  lap  me  round  for  ever,  not  to  pass 
Out  of  its  light,  though  darkness  lie  beyond : 
Hold  me  but  safe  again  within  the  bond 

Of  one  immortal  look  !     All  woe  that  was, 
Forgotten,  and  all  terror  that  may  be. 
Defied, — no  past  is  mine,  no  future  :  look  at  me ! 


YOUTH    AND    ART. 


It  once  might  have  been,  once  only  : 

We  lodged  in  a  street  together, 
You,  a  sparrow  on  the  housetop  lonely, 

I,  a  lone  she-bird  of  his  feather. 

n. 

Your  trade  was  with  sticks  and  clay. 

You  thumbed,  thrust,  patted  and  polished. 

Then  laughed  "They  will  see  some  day 
"  Smith  made,  and  Gibson  demolished." 


My  business  was  song,  song,  song  ; 

I  chirped,  cheeped,  trilled  and  twittered, 
**  Kate  Brown  's  on  the  boards  ere  long, 

"  And  Grisi's  existence  embittered  ! " 

rv. 

I  earned  no  more  by  a  warble 
Than  you  by  a  sketch  in  plaster ; 

You  wanted  a  piece  of  marble, 
I  needed  a  music-master. 


YOUTH   AND   ART.  155 


We  Studied  hard  in  our  styles, 

Chipped  each  at  a  crust  Uke  Hindoos, 

For  air,  looked  out  on  the  tiles. 

For  fun,  watched  each  other's  windows. 

VI. 

You  lounged,  like  a  boy  of  the  South, 
Cap  and  blouse — nay,  a  bit  of  beard  too 

Or  you  got  it,  rubbing  your  mouth 
With  lingers  the  clay  adhered  to. 


And  I — soon  managed  to  find 

Weak  points  in  the  flower-fence  facing, 
Was  forced  to  put  up  a  blind 

And  be  safe  in  my  corset-lacing. 

VIII. 

No  harm  !     It  was  not  my  fault 

If  you  never  turned  your  eyes'  tail  up 

As  I  shook  upon  E  in  alt., 

Or  ran  the  chromatic  scale  up  : 


For  spring  bade  the  sparrows  pair, 
And  the  boys  and  girls  gave  guesses, 

And  stalls  in  our  street  looked  rare 
With  bulrush  and  watercresses. 


1 50  DRAMATIS   PERSON/K. 


Why  did  not  you  pinch  a  flower 
In  a  pellet  of  clay  and  fling  it  ? 

Why  did  not  I  put  a  power 

Or  thanks  in  a  look,  or  sing  it  ? 


I  did  look,  sharp  as  a  lynx, 
(And  yet  the  memory  rankles) 

When  models  arrived,  some  minx 
Tripped  up-stairs,  she  and  her  ankles. 


But  I  think  I  gave  you  as  good ! 

"  That  foreign  fellow, — who  can  know 
"  How  she  pays,  in  a  playful  mood, 

"  For  his  tuning  her  that  piano  ?  " 

xin. 

Could  you  say  so,  and  never  say 

"  Suppose  we  join  hands  and  fortunes, 

"  And  I  fetch  her  from  over  the  way, 

"  Her,  piano,  and  long  tunes  and  short  tunes?  " 


No,  no  :  you  would  not  be  rash. 
Nor  I  rasher  and  something  over : 

You  've  to  settle  yet  Gibson's  hash, 
And  Grisi  yet  lives  in  clover. 


YOUTH   AND   ART,  15; 


XV. 

But  you  meet  the  Prince  at  the  Board, 
I  'm  queen  myself  at  bals-pare, 

I  've  married  a  rich  old  lord, 

And  you  're  dubbed  knight  and  an  R.A. 


Each  life  unfulfilled,  you  see ; 

It  hangs  still,  patchy  and  scrappy  : 
We  have  not  sighed  deep,  laughed  free, 

Starved,  feasted,  despaired, — been  happy. 


And  nobody  calls  you  a  dunce. 
And  people  suppose  me  clever : 

This  could  but  have  happened  once. 
And  we  missed  it,  lost  it  for  ever. 


A    FACE. 


If  one  could  have  that  Uttle  head  of  hers 

Painted  upon  a  background  of  pale  gold, 

Such  as  the  Tuscan's  early  art  prefers  ! 

No  shade  encroaching  on  the  matchless  mould 

Of  those  two  lips,  which  should  be  opening  soft 

In  the  pure  profile ;  not  as  when  she  laughs, 

For  that  spoils  all :  but  rather  as  if  aloft 

Yon  hyacinth,  she  loves  so,  leaned  its  start's 

Burthen  of  honey-coloured  buds  to  kiss 

And  capture  'twixt  the  lips  apart  for  this. 

Then  her  lithe  neck,  three  fingers  might  surround, 

How  it  should  waver  on  the  pale  gold  ground 

Up  to  the  fruit-shaped,  perfect  chin  it  lifts  ! 

I  know,  Correggio  loves  to  mass,  in  rifts 

Of  heaven,  his  angel  faces,  orb  on  orb 

Breaking  its  outline,  burning  shades  absorb  : 

But  these  are  only  massed  there,  I  should  think. 

Waiting  to  see  some  wonder  momently 

Grow  out,  stand  full,  fade  slow  against  the  sky 

(That  's  the  pale  ground  you  'd  see  this  sweet  face  by), 

All  heaven,  meanwhile,  condensed  into  one  eye 

Which  fears  to  lose  the  wonder,  should  it  wink. 


A    LIKENESS. 


Some  people  hang  portraits  iip 

In  a  room  where  they  dine  or  sup  : 

And  the  wife  clinks  tea-things  under, 

And  her  cousin,  he  stirs  his  cup, 

Asks,  "  Who  was  the  lady,  1  wonder?" 

"  'T  is  a  daub  John  bought  at  a  sale," 

Quoth  the  wife, — looks  black  as  thunder : 

"  What  a  shade  beneath  her  nose ! 

"  Snufif-taking,  I  suppose, — " 

Adds  the  cousin,  w^hile  John's  corns  ail. 

Or  else,  there  's  no  wife  in  the  case. 

But  the  portrait  's  queen  of  the  place, 

Alone  mid  the  other  spoils 

Of  youth, — masks,  gloves  and  foils. 

And  pipe-sticks,  rose,  cherry-tree,  jasmine, 

And  the  long  whip,  the  tandem-lasher, 

And  the  cast  from  a  fist  ("  not,  alas  !  mine, 

"  But  my  master's,  the  Tipton  Slasher  ") 

And  the  cards  where  pistol-balls  mark  ace, 

And  a  satin  shoe  used  for  cigar-case. 

And  the  chamois-horns  ("  shot  in  the  Chablais  ") 


t6o  dramatis  persons. 

And  prints — Rarey  drumming  on  Cruiser, 

And  Sayers,  our  champion,  the  bruiser, 

And  the  little  edition  of  Rabelais  : 

Where  a  friend,  with  both  hands  in  his  pockets, 

May  saunter  up  close  to  examine  it, 

And  remark  a  good  deal  of  Jane  Lamb  in  it, 

**  But  the  eyes  are  half  out  of  their  sockets  ; 

"  That  hair  's  not  so  bad,  where  the  gloss  is, 

"  But  they  've  made  the  girl's  nose  a  proboscis : 

"  Jane  Lamb,  that  we  danced  with  at  Vichy  ! 

"  What,  is  not  she  Jane  ?    Then,  who  is  she  ?  " 

All  that  I  own  is  a  print. 

An  etching,  a  mezzotint  ; 

'T  is  a  study,  a  fancy,  a  fiction. 

Yet  a  fact  (take  my  conviction) 

Because  it  has  more  than  a  hint 

Of  a  certain  face,  I  never 

Saw  elsewhere  touch  or  trace  of 

In  women  I  've  seen  the  face  of: 

Just  an  etching,  and,  so  far,  clever. 

I  keep  my  prints,  an  imbroglio, 
Fifty  in  one  portfolio. 
When  somebody  tries  my  claret, 
We  turn  round  chairs  to  the  fire. 
Chirp  over  days  in  a  garret. 
Chuckle  o'er  increase  of  salary, 
Taste  the  good  fruits  of  our  leisure 


A   LIKENESS.  l6l 

Talk  about  pencil  and  lyre, 

And  the  National  Portrait  Gallery : 

Then  I  exhibit  my  treasure. 

After  we  've  turned  over  twenty, 

And  the  debt  of  wonder  my  crony  owes 

Is  paid  to  my  Marc  Antonios, 

He  stops  me — "  Festi?ta  lente! 

"  What  's  that  sweet  thing  there,  the  etching?" 

How  my  waistcoat-strings  want  stretching, 

How  my  cheeks  grow  red  as  tomatos, 

How  my  heart  leaps  !     But  hearts,  after  leaps,  ache. 

"  By  the  by,  you  must  take,  for  a  keepsake, 

"  That  other,  you  praised,  of  Volpato's." 

The  fool  !  would  he  try  a  flight  further  and  say — 

He  never  saw,  never  before  to-day, 

A^^hat  was  able  to  take  his  breath  away, 

A  face  to  lose  youth  for,  to  occupy  age 

With  the  dream  of,  meet  death  with, — why,  I'll  not  engage 

But  that,  half  in  a  rapture  and  half  in  a  rage, 

I  should  toss  him  the  thing's  self — "  'T  is  only  a  duplicate, 

'*  A  thing  of  no  value  !     Take  it,  I  supplicate  ! " 


VOL.    VL  II 


MR.   SLUDGE,   ''THE    MEDIUM." 


Now,  don  't,  sir  !     Don  't  expose  me  !     Just  this  once  ! 

This  was  the  first  and  only  time,  I  '11  swear,— 

Look  at  me,— see,  I  kneel,— the  only  time, 

I  swear,  I  ever  cheated, — yes,  by  the  soul 

Of  Her  who  hears — (your  sainted  mother,  sir  !) 

All,  except  this  last  accident,  was  truth — 

This  little  kind  of  slip  !— and  even  this, 

It  was  your  own  wine,  sir,  the  good  champagne, 

(I  took  it  for  Catawba,  you  're  so  kind) 

Which  put  the  folly  in  my  head  ! 

"  Get  up  ? " 
You  still  inflict  on  me  that  terrible  face  ? 
You  show  no  mercy  ? — Not  for  Her  dear  sake, 
The  sainted  spirit's,  whose  soft  breath  even  now 
Blows  on  my  cheek— (don  't  you  feel  something,  sir  ?) 
You'll  tell? 

Go  tell,  then  !     Who  the  devil  cares 
What  such  a  rowdy  chooses  to  .  .  . 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM."  1 63 

Aie — aie — aie  ! 
Please,  sir  !  your  thumbs  are  through  my  windpipe,  sir  ! 
Ch— ch  ! 

Well,  sir,  I  hope  you  've  done  it  now  ! 
Oh  Lord  !     I  little  thought,  sir,  yesterday. 
When  your  departed  mother  spoke  those  words 
Of  peace  through  me,  and  moved  you,  sir,  so  much, 
You  gave  me — (very  kind  it  was  of  you) 
These  shirt-studs — (better  take  them  back  again, 
Please,  sir) — yes,  little  did  I  think  so  soon 
A  trifle  of  trick,  all  through  a  glass  too  much 
Of  his  own  champagne,  would  change  my  best  of  friend? 
Into  an  angry  gentleman  ! 

Though,  't  was  wrong. 
1  don  't  contest  the  point ;  your  anger  's  just : 
Whatever  put  such  folly  in  my  head, 
I  know  't  was  wicked  of  me.     There  's  a  thick 
Dusk  undeveloped  spirit  (I  've  observed) 
Owes  me  a  grudge — a  negro's,  I  should  say, 
Or  else  an  Irish  emigrant's  ;  yourself 
Explained  the  case  so  well  last  Sunday,  sir. 
When  we  had  summoned  Franklin  to  clear  up 
A  point  about  those  shares  i'  the  telegraph  : 
Ay,  and  he  swore  .  .  or  might  it  be  Tom  Paine  ?  . 
Thumping  the  table  close  by  where  I  crouched, 
He  'd  do  me  soon  a  mischief:  that 's  come  true ! 


164  DRAMATIS    PERSON,*. 

Why,  now  your  face  clears  !     I  was  sure  it  would  ! 

Then,  this  one  time  .  .  don  't  take  your  hand  away, 

Through  yours  I  surely  kiss  your  mother's  hand  .  . 

You  '11  promise  to  forgive  me  ? — or,  at  least, 

Tell  nobody  of  this  ?     Consider,  sir  ! 

What  harm  can  mercy  do  ?     Would  but  the  shade 

Of  the  venerable  dead-one  just  vouchsafe 

A  rap  or  tip  !     What  bit  of  paper  's  here  ? 

Suppose  we  take  a  pencil,  let  her  write. 

Make  the  least  sign,  she  urges  on  her  child 

Forgiveness  ?    There   now  !     Eh  ?     Oh  !     'T  was   your 

foot. 
And  not  a  natural  creak,  sir  ? 

Answer,  then  ! 
Once,  twice,  thrice  .  .  .  see,  I  'm  waiting  to  say  "  thrice  !  *' 
All  to  no  use  ?     No  sort  of  hope  for  me  ? 
It 's  all  to  post  to  Greeley's  newspaper? 

What  ?     If  I  told  you  all  about  the  tricks  ? 

Upon  my  soul ! — the  whole  truth,  and  nought  else. 

And  how  there  's  been  some  falsehood — for  your  part, 

^Vill  you  engage  to  pay  my  passage  out. 

And  hold  your  tongue  until  I  'm  safe  on  board  ? 

England  's  the  place,  not  Boston — no  offence ! 

I  see  what  makes  you  hesitate  :  don  't  fear ! 

I  mean  to  change  my  trade  and  cheat  no  more, 

Yes,  this  time  really  it  's  upon  my  soul ! 

Be  my  salvation  ! — under  Heaven,  of  course. 


MR.    SLUDGE,    '' THE   MEDIUM."  1C5 

I  '11  tell  some  queer  things.     Sixty  Vs  must  do. 
A  trifle,  though,  to  start  with  !     We  '11  refer 
The  question  to  this  table  ? 

How  you  're  changed  ! 
Then  split  the  difference ;  thirty  more,  we  '11  say. 
Ay,  but  you  leave  my  presents  !     Else  I  '11  swear 
'T  was  all  through  those  :  you  wanted  yours  again, 
So,  picked  a  quarrel  with  me,  to  get  them  back  ! 
Tread  on  a  worm,  it  turns,  sir !     If  I  turn. 
Your  fault !     'T   is   you  '11   have   forced   me !     Who  's 

obliged 
To  give  up  life  yet  try  no  self-defence  ? 
At  all  events,  I  '11  run  the  risk.     Eh  ? 

Done  ! 
May  I  sit,  sir  ?     This  dear  old  table,  now  ! 
Please,  sir,  a  parting  egg-nogg  and  cigar  ! 
I  've  been  so  happy  with  you  !     Nice  stuffed  chairs, 
And  sympathetic  sideboards  ;  what  an  end 
'  To  all  the  instructive  evenings !     (It 's  alight.) 
Well,  nothing  lasts,  as  Bacon  came  and  said. 
Here  goes, — but  keep  your  temper,  or  I  'U  scream ! 

Fol-lol-the-rido-liddle-iddle-ol! 

You  see,  sir,  it 's  your  own  fault  more  than  mine  ; 

It  's  all  your  fault,  you  curious  gentlefolk  ! 

You  're  prigs, — excuse  me, — like  to  look  so  spry, 

So  clever,  while  you  cling  by  half  a  claw 


l66  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

To  the  perch  whereon  you  puflf  yourselves  at  roost, 
Such  piece  of  self-conceit  as  serves  for  perch 
Because  you  chose  it,  so  it  must  be  safe. 
Oh,  otherwise  you  're  sharp  enough  !     You  spy 
Who  slips,  who  slides,  who  holds  by  help  of  wing. 
Wanting  real  foothold, — who  can  't  keep  upright 
On  the  other  perch,  your  neighbour  chose,  not  you  : 
There  's  no  outwitting  you  respecting  him  ! 
For  instance,  men  love  money — that,  you  know — 
And  what  men  do  to  gain  it :  well,  suppose 
A  poor  lad,  say  a  help's  son  in  your  house. 
Listening  at  keyholes,  hears  the  company 
Talk  grand  of  dollars,  V-notes,  and  so  forth. 
How  hard  they  are  to  get,  how  good  to  hold. 
How  much  they  buy, — if,  suddenly,  in  pops  he — 
"  /  've  got  a  V-note  !  " — what  do  you  say  to  him  ? 
What  's  your  first  word  which  follows  your  last  kick  ? 
"  Where  did  you  steal  it,  rascal  ?  "     That 's  because 
He  finds  you,  fain  would  fool  you,  off  your  perch, 
Not  on  the  special  piece  of  nonsense,  sir. 
Elected  your  parade-ground  :  let  him  try 
Lies  to  the  end  of  the  list, — "  He  picked  it  up, 
"  His  cousin  died  and  left  it  him  by  will, 
"  The  President  flung  it  to  him,  riding  by, 
"  An  actress  trucked  it  for  a  curl  of  his  hair, 
"  He  dreamed  of  luck  and  found  his  shoe  enriched, 
"  He  dug  up  clay,  and  out  of  clay  made  gold  " — 
How  would  you  treat  such  possibilities  ? 
Would  not  you,  prompt,  investigate  the  case 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM."  167 

With  cow-hide  ?     "  Lies,  lies,  lies,"  you  'd  shout :    and 

why? 
Which  of  the  stories  might  not  prove  mere  truth  ? 
This  last,  perhaps,  that  clay  was  turned  to  coin  ! 
Let 's  see,  now,  give  him  me  to  speak  for  him  ! 
How  many  of  your  rare  philosophers, 
In  plaguy  books  1  've  had  to  dip  into, 
Believed  gold  could  be  made  thus,  saw  it  made 
And  made  it  ?     Oh,  with  such  philosophers 
You  're  on  your  best  behaviour  !     While  the  lad — 
With  him,  in  a  trice,  you  settle  likelihoods, 
Nor  doubt  a  moment  how  he  got  his  prize  : 
In  his  case,  you  hear,  judge  and  execute, 
All  in  a  breath  :  so  would  most  men  of  sense. 

But  let  the  same  lad  hear  you  talk  as  grand 

At  the  same  keyhole,  you  and  company, 

Of  signs  and  wonders,  the  invisible  world ; 

How  wisdom  scouts  our  vulgar  unbelief 

More  than  our  vulgarest  credulity  ; 

How  good  men  have  desired  to  see  a  ghost, 

What  Johnson  used  to  say,  what  Wesley  did, 

Mother  Goose  thought,  and  fiddle-diddle-dee  : — 

If  he  then  break  in  with,  "  Sir,  /  saw  a  ghost ! " 

Ah,  the  ways  change  !     He  finds  you  perched  and  primj 

It 's  a  conceit  of  yours  that  ghosts  may  be  : 

There  's  no  talk  now  of  cow-hide.     "  Tell  it  out ! 

"  Don  't  fear  us  !     Take  your  time  and  recollect ! 

"  Sit  down  first :  try  a  glass  of  v^^ine,  my  boy  ! 


I  68  DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

'*  And,  David,  (is  not  that  your  Christian  name  ?) 
"  Of  all  things,  should  this  happen  twice — it  may — 
"  Be  sure,  while  fresh  in  mind,  you  let  us  know  ! " 
Does  the  boy  blunder,  blurt  out  this,  blab  that, 
Break  down  in  the  other,  as  beginners  will  ? 
All  's  candour,  all  's  considerateness — "  No  haste  ! 
"  Pause  and  collect  yourself !     We  understand  ! 
"  That  's  the  bad  memory,  or  the  natural  shock, 
"  Or  the  unexplained  phenomena  /" 

Egad, 
'I'he  boy  takes  heart  of  grace  ;  finds,  never  fear, 
The  readiest  way  to  ope  your  own  heart  wide. 
Show — what  I  call  your  peacock-perch,  pet  post 
To  strut,  and  spread  the  tail,  and  squawk  upon  ! 
"  Just  as  you  thought,  much  as  you  might  expect ! 
"  There  be  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio," 
And  so  on.     Shall  not  David  take  the  hint, 
Grow  bolder,  stroke  you  down  at  quickened  rate  ? 
If  he  ruffle  a  feather,  it 's  "  Gently,  patiently  ! 
"  Manifestations  are  so  weak  at  first ! 
"  Doubting,  moreover,  kills  them,  cuts  all  short, 
"  Cures  with  a  vengeance  !  " 

There,  sir,  that  's  your  style 
You  and  your  boy — such  pains  bestowed  on  him. 
Or  any  headpiece  of  the  average  worth. 
To  teach,  say,  Greek,  would  perfect  him  apace, 
Make  him  a  Person  ("  Person  ?  "  thank  you,  sir  !) 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM."  l6y 

Much  more,  proficient  in  the  art  of  lies. 
You  never  leave  the  lesson  !  Fire  alight, 
Catch  you  permitting  it  to  die  !  You  've  friends  ; 
There  's  no  withholding  knowledge, — least  from  those 
Apt  to  look  elsewhere  for  their  souls'  supply  : 
Why  should  not  you  parade  your  lawful  prize  ? 
Who  finds  a  picture,  digs  a  medal  up, 
Hits  on  a  first  edition, — he  henceforth 
Gives  it  his  name,  grows  notable  :  how  much  more, 
OiVho  ferrets  out  a  "  medium  ?  "     "  David  's  yours, 
"  You  highly-favoured  man  ?     Then,  pity  souls 
"  Less  privileged  !     Allow  us  share  your  luck  ! " 
So,  David  holds  the  circle,  rules  the  roast. 
Narrates  the  vision,  peeps  in  the  glass  ball, 
Sets-to  the  spirit-writing,  hears  the  raps, 
As  the  case  may  be. 

Now  mark  !     To  be  precise — 
Though  I  say,  "  lies  "  all  these,  at  this  first  stage, 
'T  is  just  for  science'  sake  :  I  call  such  grubs 
By  the  name  of  what  they  '11  turn  to,  dragonflies. 
Strictly,  it 's  what  good  people  style  untruth ; 
'But  yet,  so  far,  not  quite  the  full-grown  thing  : 
It 's  fancying,  fable-making,  nonsense-work — 
What  never  meant  to  be  so  very  bad — 
The  knack  of  story-telling,  brightening  up 
Each  dull  old  bit  of  fact  that  drops  its  shine. 
One  does  see  somewhat  when  one  shuts  one's  eyes, 
If  only  spots  and  streaks  ;  tables  do  tip 


170  DRAMATIS   PERSON.C 

In  the  oddest  way  of  themselves :  and  pens,  good  Lorvl, 
Who  knows  if  you  drive  them  or  they  drive  you  ? 
'T  is  but  a  foot  in  the  water  and  out  again  ; 
Not  that  duck-under  which  decides  your  dive. 
Note  this,  for  it  's  important :  listen  why. 

I  '11  prove,  you  push  on  David  till  he  dives 

And  ends  the  shivering.     Here  's  your  circle,  now : 

Two-thirds  of  them,  with  heads  like  you  their  host, 

Turn  up  their  eyes,  and  cry,  as  you  expect, 

"  Lord,  who  'd  have  thought  it ! "  But  there 's  always  one 

Looks  wise,  compassionately  smiles,  submits 

**  Of  your  veracity  no  kind  of  doubt, 

"  But — do  you  feel  so  certain  of  that  boy's? 

"  Really,  I  wonder  !  I  confess  myself 

"  More  chary  of  my  faith  !  "     That  's  galling,  sir ! 

What,  he  the  investigator,  he  the  sage, 

When  all 's  done  ?  Then,  you  just  have  shut  your  eyes, 

Opened  your  mouth,  and  gulped  down  David  whole. 

You  !     Terrible  were  such  catastrophe  ! 

So,  evidence  is  redoubled,  doubled  again. 

And  doubled  besides;  once  more,  "  He  heard, we  heard, 

"  You  and  they  heard,  your  mother  and  your  wife, 

"  Your  children  and  the  stranger  in  your  gates  : 

"  Did  they  or  did  they  not  ?  "     So  much  for  him. 

The  black  sheep,  guest  without  the  wedding-garb, 

And  doubting  Thomas  !     Now  's  your  turn  to  crow : 

"  He  's  kind  to  think  you  such  a  fool :  Sludge  cheats  ? 

"  Leave  you  alone  to  take  precautions  !  " 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM.  17T 

Straight 
The  rest  join  chorus.     Thomas  stands  abashed, 
Sips  silent  some  such  beverage  as  this. 
Considers  if  it  be  harder,  shutting  eyes 
And  gulping  David  in  good  fellowship, 
Than  going  elsewhere,  getting,  in  exchange. 
With  no  egg-nogg  to  lubricate  the  food, 
Some  just  as  tough  a  morsel.     Over  the  way, 
Holds  Captain  Sparks  his  court :  is  it  better  there  ? 
Have  not  you  hunting-stories,  scalping-scenes, 
And  Mexican  War  exploits  to  swallow  plump 
If  you  'd  be  free  o'  the  stove-side,  rocking-chair, 
And  trio  of  affable  daughters  ? 

Doubt  succumbs  ! 
Victory !     All  your  circle  's  yours  again  ! 
Out  of  the  clubbing  of  submissive  wits, 
David's  performance  rounds,  each  chink  gets  patched, 
Every  protrusion  of  a  point 's  filed  fine. 
All 's  fit  to  set  a-roUing  round  the  world. 
And  then  return  to  David  finally, 
Lies  seven-feet  thick  about  his  first  half-inch. 
Here  's  a  choice  birth  o'  the  supernatural. 
Poor  David  's  pledged  to  !     You  've  employed  no  tool 
That  laws  exclaim  at,  save  the  devil's  own, 
Yet  screwed  him  into  henceforth  gulling  you 
To  the  top  o'  your  bent, — all  out  of  one  half-lie  ! 

You  hold,  if  there  's  one  half  or  a  hundredth  part 
Of  a  lie,  that 's  his  fault, — his  be  the  penalty  ! 


172  DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

I  dare  say  !     You  'd  prove  firmer  in  his  place  ? 

You  'd  find  the  courage, — that  first  flurry  over, 

That  mild  bit  of  romancing-work  at  end, — 

To  interpose  with  "  It  gets  serious,  this  ; 

"  Must  stop  here.     Sir,  I  saw  no  ghost  at  all. 

"  Inform  your  friends  I  made  .  .  well,  fools  of  them, 

"  And  found  you  ready  made.     I  've  lived  in  clover 

"  These  three  weeks  :  take  it  out  in  kicks  of  me  ! " 

I  doubt  it.     Ask  your  conscience  !     Let  me  know. 

Twelve  months  hence,  with  how  few  embellishments 

You  've  told  almighty  Boston  of  this  passage 

Of  arms  between  us,  your  first  taste  o'  the  foil 

From  Sludge  who  could  not  fence,  sir !   Sludge,  your  boy  ! 

I  lied,  sir, — there  !     I  got  up  from  my  gorge 

On  offal  in  the  gutter,  and  preferred 

Your  canvass-backs  :  I  took  their  carver's  size, 

Measured  his  modicum  of  intelligence, 

Tickled  him  on  the  cockles  of  his  heart 

With  a  raven  feather,  and  next  week  found  myself 

Sweet  and  clean,  dining  daintily,  dizened  smart, 

Set  on  a  stool  buttressed  by  ladies'  knees, 

Every  soft  smiler  calling  me  her  pet, 

Encouraging  my  story  to  uncoil 

And  creep  out  from  its  hole,  inch  after  inch, 

"  How  last  night,  I  no  sooner  snug  in  bed, 

"  Tucked  up,  just  as  they  left  me, — than  came  raps  ! 

"  While  a  light  whisked"  .  .  "Shaped  somewhat  like  a 

star  ?  " 
"  Well,  like  some  sort  of  stars,  ma'am." — "  So  we  thought ! 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "  THE    MEDIU.M."  173 

"  And  any  voice  ?     Not  yet  ?     Try  hard,  next  time, 

'•  If  you  can't  hear  a  voice ;  we  think  you  may  : 

"  At  leasts  the  Pennsylvanian  'mediums'  did." 

Oh,  next  time  comes  the  voice  !     "  Just  as  we  hoped  ! " 

Are  not  the  hopers  proud  now,  pleased,  profuse 

0'  the  natural  acknowledgment  ? 

Of  course  ! 
So,  off  we  push,  illy-oh-yo,  trim  the  boat, 
On  we  sweep  with  a  cataract  ahead, 
We  're  midway  to  the  Horse-shoe  :  stop,  who  can. 
The  dance  of  bubbles  gay  about  our  prow ! 
Experiences  become  worth  waiting  for, 
Spirits  now  speak  up,  tell  their  inmost  mind, 
And  compliment  the  "  medium  "  properly, 
Concern  themselves  about  his  Sunday  coat. 
See  rings  on  his  hand  with  pleasure.     Ask  yourself 
How  you  'd  receive  a  course  of  treats  like  these  ! 
Why,  take  the  quietest  hack  and  stall  him  up, 
Cram  him  with  corn  a  month,  then  out  with  him 
Among  his  mates  on  a  bright  April  morn, 
With  the  turf  to  tread ;  see  if  you  find  or  no 
A  caper  in  him,  if  he  bucks  or  bolts  ! 
Much  more  a  youth  whose  fancies  sprout  as  rank 
As  toadstool-clump  from  melon-bed.     'T  is  soon, 
"  Sirrah,  you  spirit,  come,  go,  fetch  and  carry, 
'•^  Read,  write,  rap,  rub-a-dub,  and  hang  yourself ! " 
I  'm  spared  all  further  trouble  ;  all  's  arranged ; 
Vour  circle  does  my  business ;  I  may  rave 


'74  DRAMATIS   PERSON-?;:. 

Like  an  epileptic  dervish  in  the  books, 

Foam,  fling  myself  flat,  rend  my  clothes  to  shreds ; 

No  matter  :  lovers,  friends  and  countrymen 

Will  lay  down  spiritual  laws,  read  wrong  things  right 

By  the  rule  o'  reverse.     If  Francis  Verulam 

Styles  himself  Bacon,  spells  the  name  beside 

With  a.y  and  a  k,  says  he  drew  breath  in  York, 

Gave  up  the  ghost  in  Wales  when  Cromwell  reigned, 

(As,  sir,  we  somewhat  fear  he  was  apt  to  say, 

Before  I  found  the  useful  book  that  knows) 

Why,  what  harm  's  done  ?     The  circle  smiles  apace, 

"  It  was  not  Bacon,  after  all,  do  you  see  ! 

"  We  understand  ;  the  trick  's  but  natural : 

"  Such  spirits'  individuality 

"  Is  hard  to  put  in  evidence :  they  incline 

"  To  gibe  and  jeer,  these  undeveloped  sorts. 

"  You  see,  their  world  's  much  like  a  jail  broke  loose, 

"  While  this  of  ours  remains  shut,  bolted,  barred, 

"  With  a  single  window  to  it.     Sludge,  our  friend, 

"  Serves  as  this  window,  whether  thin  or  thick, 

"  Or  stained  or  stainless ;  he  's  the  medium-pane 

"  Through  which,  to  see  us  and  be  seen,  they  peep : 

"  They  crowd  each  other,  hustle  for  a  chance, 

"  Tread  on  their  neighbour's  kibes,  play  tricks  enough  ! 

"  Does  Bacon,  tired  of  waiting,  swerve  aside? 

"  Up  in  his  place  jumps  Barnum — '  I  'm  your  man, 

"  *  I  '11  answer  you  for  Bacon  ! '     Try  once  more  ! " 

Or  else  it 's— "  What 's  a  *  medium  ? '     He  's  a  means, 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM.  1 75 

"  Good,  bad,  indifferent,  still  the  only  means 

"  Spirits  can  speak  by  ;  he  may  misconceive, 

"  Stutter  and  stammer, — he  's  their  Sludge  and  drudge, 

*'  Take  him  or  leave  him  ;  they  must  hold  their  peace, 

"  Or  else,  put  up  with  having  knowledge  strained 

"  To  half-expression  through  his  ignorance. 

"  Suppose,  the  spirit  Beethoven  wants  to  shed 

"  New  music  he  's  brimful  of;  why,  he  turns 

"  The  handle  of  this  organ,  grinds  with  Sludge, 

•*  And  what  he  poured  in  at  the  mouth  o'  the  mill 

"  As  a  Thirty-third  Sonata,  (fancy  now  !) 

"  Comes  from  the  hopper  as  bran-new  Sludge,  nought  else, 

"  The  Shakers'  Hymn  in  G,  with  a  natural  F, 

"  Or  the  '  Stars  and  Stripes '  set  to  consecutive  fourths." 

Sir,  where  's  the  scrape  you  did  not  help  me  through, 

You  that  are  wise  ?    And  for  the  fools,  the  folk 

Who  came  to  see, — the  guests,  (observe  that  word  !) 

Pray  do  you  find  guests  criticise  your  wine, 

Your  furniture,  your  grammar,  or  your  nose  ? 

Then,  why  your  '*  medium  ?  "     What 's  the  difference  ? 

Prove  your  madeira  red-ink  and  gamboge, — 

Your  Sludge,  a  cheat — then,  somebody  's  a  goose 

For  vaunting  both  as  genuine.     "  Guests  !  "     Don't  fear ! 

They  'U  make  a  wry  face,  nor  too  much  of  that, 

And  leave  you  in  your  glory. 

**  No,  sometimes 
"  They  doubt  and  say  as  much  ! "     Ay,  doubt  they  do  ! 


176  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

And    what    's    the    consequence  ?      "  Of    course    they 

doubt"— 
(You  triumph)  "  that  explains  the  hitch  at  once  ! 
"  Doubt  posed  our  '  medium,'  puddled  his  pure  mind  , 
**  He  gave  them  back  their  rubbish  :  pitch  chaff  in, 
"  Could  flour  come  out  o'  the  honest  mill?"    So,  prompt 
Applaud  the  faithful :  cases  flock  in  point, 
"  How,  when  a  mocker  willed  a  'medium  '  once 
"  Should  name  a  spirit  James  whose  name  was  George, 
"  '  James'  cried  the  '  medium,' — 't  was  the  test  of  truth !' 
In  short,  a  hit  proves  much,  a  miss  proves  more. 
Does  this  convince  ?     The  better  :  does  it  fail  ? 
Time  for  the  double-shotted  broadside,  then — 
The  grand  means,  last  resource.     Look  black  and  big  ! 
"  You  style  us  idiots,  therefore — why  stop  short  ? 
"  Accomplices  in  rascality  :  this  we  hear 
"  In  our  own  house,  from  our  invited  guest 
"  Found  brave  enough  to  outrage  a  poor  boy 
"  Exposed  by  our  good  faith  !     Have  you  been  heard  ? 
"  Now,  then,  hear  us  ;  one  man  's  not  quite  worth  twelve. 
"  You  see  a  cheat?     Here  's  some  twelve  see  an  ass  : 
"  Excuse  me  if  I  calculate  :  good  day  !  " 
Out  slinks  the  sceptic,  all  the  laughs  explode, 
Sludge  waves  his  hat  in  triumph ! 

Or— he  don't. 
There  's  something  in  real  truth  (explain  who  can  !) 
One  casts  a  wistful  eye  at,  like  the  horse 
Who  mopes  beneath  stufted  hay-racks  and  won't  munch 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM.  T77 

Because  he  spies  a  corn-bag  :  hang  that  truth, 

It  spoils  all  dainties  proffered  in  its  place  ! 

I  've  felt  at  times  when,  cockered,  cossetted ' 

And  coddled  by  the  aforesaid  company, 

Bidden  enjoy  their  bullying, — never  fear, 

But  o'er  their  shoulders  spit  at  the  flying  man, — 

I  've  felt  a  child ;  only,  a  fractious  child 

That,  dandled  soft  by  nurse,  aunt,  grandmother, 

Who  keep  him  from  the  kennel,  sun  and  wind, 

Good  fun  and  wholesome  mud, — enjoined  be  sweet. 

And  comely  and  superior, — eyes  askance 

The  ragged  sons  o'  the  gutter  at  their  game. 

Fain  would  be  down  with  them  i'  the  thick  o'  the  filth. 

Making  dirt-pies,  laughing  free,  speaking  plain. 

And  calHng  granny  the  grey  old  cat  she  is. 

I  've  felt  a  spite,  I  say,  at  you,  at  them. 

Muggings  and  humbug — gnashed  my  teeth  to  mark 

A  decent  dog  pass  !     It  's  too  bad,  I  say, 

Ruining  a  soul  so  ! 

But  what  's  "  so,"  what  's  fixed, 
Where    may   one    stop  ?     Nowhere !     The    cheating  's 

nursed 
Out  of  the  lying,  softly  and  surely  spun 
To  just  your  length,  sir  !     I  'd  stop  soon  enough  : 
But  you  're  for  progress.     "  All  old,  nothing  new  ? 
"  Only  the  usual  talking  through  the  mouth, 
"  Or  writing  by  the  hand  ?     I  own,  I  thought 
"  This  would  develop,  grow  demonstrable, 

VOL.    VI.  12 


Ij3  DRAMATIS    PERSON^E. 

"  Make  doubt  absurd,  give  figures  we  might  see, 

''  Flowers  we  might  touch.     There  's  no  one  doubts  you, 

Sludge  ! 
"  You  dream  the  dreams,  you  see  the  spiritual  sights, 
"  The  speeches  come  in  your  head,  beyond  dispute. 
•'  Still,  for  the  sceptics'  sake,  to  stop  all  mouths, 
"  We  want  some  outward  manifestation  ! — well, 
"  The  Pennsylvanians  gained  such  ;  why  not  Sludge  ? 
"  He  may  improve  with  time  !  " 

Ay,  that  he  may  ! 
He  sees  his  lot :  there  's  no  avoiding  fate. 
'T  is  a  trifle  at  first.     "  Eh,  David  ?     Did  you  hear  ? 
"  You  jogged  the  table,  your  foot  caused  the  squeak, 
"  This  time  you  're  .  .  .  joking,  are  you  not,  my  boy  ?" 
"  N-n-no  !  "—and  I  'm  done  for,  bought  and  sold  hence 

forth. 
The  old  good  easy  jog-trot  way,  the  .  .  .  eh  ? 
The  ...  not  so  very  false,  as  falsehood  goes, 
The  spinning  out  and  drawing  fine,  you  know,— 
Really  mere  novel-writing  of  a  sort, 
Acting,  or  improvising,  make-believe, 
Surely  not  downright  cheatery, — any  how, 
'T  is  done  with  and  my  lot  cast ;  Cheat 's  my  name  : 
The  fatal  dash  of  brandy  in  your  tea 
Has  setded  what  you  '11  have  the  souchong's  smack : 
The  caddy  gives  way  to  the  dram-botde. 

Then,  it 's  so  cruel  easy  !     Oh,  those  tricks 


I 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM."  1 79 

That  can't  be  tricks,  those  feats  by  sleight  of  hand, 

Clearly  no  common  conjuror's  ! — no,  indeed  ! 

A  conjuror  ?     Choose  me  any  craft  i'  the  world 

A  man  puts  hand  to  ;  and  with  six  months'  pains, 

I  '11  play  you  twenty  tricks  miraculous 

To   people   untaught   the   trade  :    have   you  seen  glass 

blown. 
Pipes  pierced  ?     Why,  just  this  biscuit  that  I  chip, 
Did  you  ever  watch  a  baker  toss  one  flat 
To  the  oven  ?     Try  and  do  it  !     Take  my  word, 
Practise  but  half  as  much,  while  limbs  are  lithe, 
To  turn,  shove,  tilt  a  table,  crack  your  joints, 
Manage  your  feet,  dispose  your  hands  aright. 
Work  wires  that  twitch  the  curtains,  play  the  glove 
At  end  o'  your  slipper, — then  put  out  the  lights 
And  .  .  .  there,  there,  all  you  want  you  '11  get,  I  hope  ! 
I  found  it  slip,  easy  as  an  old  shoe. 

Now,  lights  on  table  again  !    I  've  done  my  part. 

You  take  my  place  while  I  give  thanks  and  rest. 

"  Well,  Judge  Humgmffin,  what  's  your  verdict,  sir  ? 

"  You,  hardest  head  in  the  United  States, — 

"  Did  you  detect  a  cheat  here  ?    Wait !     Let 's  see  ! 

"  Just  an  experiment  first,  for  candour's  sake  ! 

"  I  '11  try  and  cheat  you,  Judge  !     The  table  tilts  : 

"  Is  it  I  that  move  it  ?     Write  !     I  '11  press  your  hand  : 

"  Cry  when  I  push,  or  guide  your  pencil,  Judge  ! " 

Sludge  still  triumphant !     "  That  a  rap,  indeed  ? 

"  That,  the  real  writing  ?     Very  like  a  whale  ! 


I  So  DRAMATIS   PERSONi«. 

"  Then,  if,  sir,  you — a  most  disiinguished  man, 

"  And,  were  the  Judge  not  here,  I  'd  say,  .  .  no  matter  ! 

"  Well,  sir,  if  you  fail,  you  can't  take  us  in, — 

"  There  's  little  fear  that  Sludge  will !  " 

Won't  he,  ma'am  ? 
But  what  if  our  distinguished  host,  like  Sludge, 
Bade  God  bear  witness  that  he  played  no  trick, 
While  you  believed  that  what  produced  the  raps 
W'as  just  a  certain  child  who  died,  you  know. 
And  whose  last  breath  you  thought  your  lips  had  felt  ? 
Eh  ?     That 's  a  capital  point,  ma'am  :  Sludge  begins 
At  your  entreaty  with  your  dearest  dead. 
The  little  voice  set  lisping  pnce  again, 
The  tiny  hand  made  feel  for  yours  once  more, 
The  poor  lost  image  brought  back,  plain  as  dreams, 
Which  image,  if  a  word  had  chanced  recall. 
The  customary  cloud. would  cross  your  eyes, 
Your  heart  return  the  old  tick,  pay  its  pang  ! 
A  right  mood  for  investigation,  this  ! 
One  's  at  one's  ease  with  Saul  and  Jonathan, 
Pompey  and  Caesar :  but  one's  own  lost  child  .  .  . 
I  wonder,  when  you  heard  the  first  clod  drop 
From  the  spadeful  at  the  grave-side,  felt  you  free 
To  investigate  who  twitched  your  funeral  scarf 
Or  brushed  your  flounces?     Then,  it  came  of  course, 
You  should  be  stunned  and  stupid ;  then,  (how  else  ?) 
Your  breath  stopped  with  your  blood,  your  brain  struck 
work. 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM."  iSl 

But  now,  such  causes  fail  of  such  effects, 

All  's  changed, — the  little  voice  begins  afresh, 

Yet  you,  calm,  consequent,  can  test  and  try 

And  touch  the  truth.     "  Tests  ?     Didn't  the  creature  tell 

'•  Its  nurse's  name,  and  say  it  lived  six  years, 

"  And  rode  a  rocking-horse  ?     Enough  of  tests  ! 

"  Sludge  never  could  learn  that !  " 

He  could  not,  eh  ? 
You  compliment  him.  "  Could  not  ?  "  Speak  for  yourself ! 
I  'd  like  to  know  the  man  I  ever  saw 
Once, — never  mind  where,  how,  why,  when, — once  saw, 
Of  whom  I  do  not  keep  some  matter  in  mind 
He  'd  swear  I  "  could  not  "  know,  sagacious  soul  ! 
What  ?     Do  you  live  in  this  world's  blow  of  blacks, 
Palaver,  gossipry,  a  single  hour 
Nor  find  one  smut  has  settled  on  your  nose. 
Of  a  smut's  worth,  no  more,  no  less  ? — one  fact 
Out  of  the  drift  of  facts,  whereby  you  learn 
What  someone  was,  somewhere,  somewhen,  somewhy  ? 
You  don't  tell  folk — "  See  what  has  stuck  to  me  ! 
"  Judge  Humgruffin,  our  most  distinguished  man, 
"  Your  uncle  was  a  tailor,  and  your  wife 
"  Thought  to  have  married  Miggs,  missed  him,  hit  you ! 
Do  you,  sir,  though  you  see  him  twice  a-week  ? 
"  No,"  you  reply,  "  what  use  retailing  it  ? 
"  Why  should  I  ?  "     But,  you  see,  one  day  you  should, 
Because  one  day  there  's  much  use, — when  this  fact 
Brings  you  the  Judge  upon  both  gouty  knees 


1^2  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

Before  the  supernatural ;  proves  that  Sludge 
Knows,  as  you  say,  a  thing  he  "  could  not "  know  : 
Will  not  Sludge  thenceforth  keep  an  outstretched  face, 
The  way  the  wind  drives  ? 

*•  Could  not !  "    Look  you  now, 
I  '11  tell  you  a  story  !     There  's  a  whiskered  chaj), 
A  foreigner,  that  teaches  music  here 
And  gets  his  bread, — knowing  no  better  way  : 
He  says,  the  fellow  who  informed  of  him 
And  made  him  fly  his  country  and  fall  West, 
Was  a  hunchback  cobbler,  sat,  stitched  soles  and  sang, 
In  some  outlandish  place,  the  city  Rome, 
In  a  cellar  by  their  Broadway,  all  day  long; 
Never  asked  questions,  stopped  to  listen  or  look, 
Nor  lifted  nose  from  lapstone  ;  let  the  world 
Roll  round  his  three-legged  stool,  and  news  run  in 
The  ears  he  hardly  seemed  to  keep  pricked  up. 
Well,  that  man  went  on  Sundays,  touched  his  pay, 
And  took  his  praise  from  government,  you  see  ; 
For  something  like  two  dollars  every  week. 
He  'd  engage  tell  you  some  one  Uttle  thing 
Of  some  one  man,  which  led  to  many  more, 
(Because  one  truth  leads  right  to  the  world's  end,) 
And  make  you  that  man's  master — when  he  dined 
And  on  what  dish,  where  walked  to  keep  his  health 
And  to  what  street.     His  trade  was,  throwing  thus 
His  sense  out,  like  an  anteater's  long  tongue. 
Soft,  innocent,  warm,  moist,  impassible, 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM.  iSj  • 

And  when  't  was  crusted  o'er  with  creatures — sHck, 
Their  juice  enriched  his  palate.     "  Could  not  Sludge  ! " 

I  '11  go  yet  a  step  further,  and  maintain, 

Once  the  imposture  plunged  its  proper  depth 

r  the  rotten  of  your  natures,  all  of  you, — 

(If  one  's  not  mad  nor  drunk,  and  hardly  then) 

It 's  impossible  to  cheat — that  's,  be  found  out ! 

Go  tell  your  brotherhood  this  first  slip  of  mine, 

All  to-day's  tale,  how  you  detected  Sludge, 

Behaved  unpleasantly,  till  he  was  fain  confess, 

And  so  has  come  to  grief !     You  '11  find,  I  think, 

Why  Sludge  still  snaps  his  fingers  in  your  face. 

There  now,  you  've  told  them  !     What  's  their  promj)t 

reply  ? 
"  Sir,  did  that  youth  confess  he  had  cheated  me, 
"  I  'd  disbelieve  him.     He  may  cheat  at  times  ; 
"  That  's  in  the  '  medium  '-nature,  thus  they  're  made, 
"  Vain  and  vindictive,  cowards,  prone  to  scratch. 
"  And  so  all  cats  are  ;  still,  a  cat  's  the  beast 
"  You  coax  the  strange  electric  sparks  from  out, 
"  By  rubbing  back  its  fur;  not  so  a  dog, 
"  Nor  lion,  nor  lamb  :  't  is  the  cat's  nature,  sir  ! 
"  Why  not  the  dog's  ?   Ask  God,  who  made  them  beasts  ! 
''  D'  ye  think  the  sound,  the  nicely-balanced  man 
"  (Like  me  " — aside) — "  Hke  you  yourself," — (aloud) 
"  — He  's  stuff  to  make  a  'medium  ?  '     Bless  your  soul, 
"  'T  is  these  hysteric,  hybrid  half-and-halfs, 
"  Equivocal,  worthless  vermin  yield  the  fire  ! 


184  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

"  We  must  take  such  as  we  find  them,  'ware  their  tricks, 
"  Wanting  their  service.     Sir,  Sludge  took  in  you — 
"  How,  I  can't  say,  not  being  there  to  watch  : 
"  He  was  tried,  was  tempted  by  your  easiness, — 
"  He  did  not  take  in  me  ! " 

Thank  you  for  Sludge  ! 
I  'm  to  be  grateful  to  such  patrons,  eh. 
When  what  you  hear  's  my  best  word  ?  'T  is  a  challenge 
*'  Snap  at  all  strangers,  half-tamed  prairie-dog, 
"  So  you  cower  duly  at  your  keeper's  nod ! 
"  Cat,  show  what  claws  were  made  for,  muffling  them 
"  Only  to  me  !     Cheat  others  if  you  can, 
"  Me,  if  you  dare  !  "     And,  my  wise  sir,  I  dared — • 
Did  cheat  you  first,  made  you  cheat  others  next, 
And  had  the  help  o'  your  vaunted  manliness 
To  bully  the  incredulous.     You  used  me  ? 
Have  not  I  used  you,  taken  full  revenge. 
Persuaded  folk  they  knew  not  their  own  name. 
And  straight  they  'd  own  the  error !     Who  was  the  fool 
When,  to  an  awe-struck  wide-eyed  open-mouthed 
Circle  of  sages.  Sludge  would  introduce 
Milton  composing  baby-rhymes,  and  Locke 
Reasoning  in  gibberish.  Homer  writing  Greek 
In  noughts  and  crosses,  Asaph  setting  psalms 
To  crotchet  and  quaver  ?     I  've  made  a  spirit  squeak 
In  sham  voice  for  a  minute,  then  outbroke 
Bold  in  my  own,  defying  the  imbeciles — 
Have  copied  some  ghost's  pothooks,  half  a  page. 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM."  1 85 

Then  ended  with  my  own  scrawl  undisguised. 

"  All  right  I     The  ghost  was  merely  using  Sludge, 

"  Suiting  itself  from  his  imperfect  stock  ! " 

Don't  talk  of  gratitude  to  me  !     For  what  ? 

For  being  treated  as  a  showman's  ape, 

Encouraged  to  be  wicked  and  make  sport, 

Fret  or  sulk,  grin  or  whimper,  any  mood 

So  long  as  the  ape  be  in  it  and  no  man — 

Because  a  nut  pays  every  mood  alike. 

Curse  your  superior,  superintending  sort. 

Who,  since  you  hate  smoke,  send  up  boys  that  climb 

To  cure  your  chimney,  bid  a  "  medium  "  lie 

To  sweep  you  truth  down  !     Curse  your  women  too, 

Your  insolent  wives  and  daughters,  that  fire  up 

Or  faint  away  if  a  male  hand  squeeze  theirs. 
Yet,  to  encourage  Sludge,  may  play  with  Sludge 

As  only  a  "  medium,"  only  the  kind  of  thing 

They  must  humour,  fondle  .  .  oh,  to  misconceive 

Were  too  preposterous  !     But  I  've  paid  them  out ! 

They  've  had  their  wish — called  for  the  naked  truth. 

And  in  she  tripped,  sat  down  and  bade  them  stare  : 

They  had  to  blush  a  little  and  forgive  ! 

"  The  fact  is,  children  talk  so  ;  in  next  world 

"  All  our  conventions  are  reversed, — perhaps 

"  Made  light  of:  something  like  old  prints,  my  dear  ! 

"  The  Judge  has  one,  he  brought  from  Italy, 

*'  A  metropolis  in  the  background, — o'er  a  bridge, 

"  A  team  of  trotting  roadsters, — cheerful  groups 

*'  Of  wayside  travellers,  peasants  at  their  work, 


I  86  DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

"  And,  full  in  front,  quite  unconcerned,  why  not? 

"  Three  nymphs  conversing  with  a  cavalier, 

"  And  never  a  rag  among  them  :  '  fine,'  folk  cry— 

"  And  heavenly  manners  seem  not  much  unlike  ! 

"  Let  Sludge  go  on  ;  we  '11  fancy  it  's  in  print  !  " 

If  such  as  came  for  wool,  sir,  went  home  shorn, 

Where  is  the  wrong  I  did  them  ?     'T  was  their  choice  ; 

They  tried  the  adventure,  ran  the  risk,  tossed  up 

And  lost,  as  some  one  's  sure  to  do  in  games  ; 

They  fancied  I  was  made  to  lose, — smoked  glass 

Useful  to  spy  the  sun  through,  spare  their  eyes  : 

And  had  I  proved  a  red-hot  iron  plate 

They  thought  to  pierce,  and,  for  their  pains,  grew  blind, 

Whose  were  the  fault  but  theirs  ?    While,  as  things  go, 

Their  loss  amounts  to  gain,  the  more  's  the  shame  ! 

They  've  had  their  peep  into  the  spirit-world, 

And  all  this  world  may  know  it !     They  've  fed  fat 

Their  self-conceit  which  else  had  starved  :  what  chance 

Save  this,  of  cackling  o'er  a  golden  egg 

And  compassing  distinction  from  the  flock. 

Friends  of  a  feather  ?     Well,  they  paid  for  it. 

And  not  prodigiously ;  the  price  o'  the  play. 

Not  counting  certain  pleasant  interludes. 

Was  scarce  a  vulgar  play's  worth.     When  you  buy 

The  actor's  talent,  do  you  dare  propose 

For  his  soul  beside  ?     Whereas,  my  soul  you  buy  ! 

Sludge  acts  Macbeth,  obliged  to  be  Macbeth, 

Or  you  '11  not  hear  his  first  word  !     Just  go  through 

That  slight  formality,  swear  himself  's  the  Thane, 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "  THE    MEDIUM,"  187 

d  thenceforth  he  may  strut  and  fret  his  hour, 
Dut,  spawl,  or  spin  his  target,  no  one  cares  ! 
ly  hadn't  I  leave  to  play  tricks,  Sludge  as  Sludge  ? 
ough  of  it  all  !     I  've  wiped  out  scores  with  you-^ 
nted  your  fustian,  let  myself  be  streaked 
le  tom-fool  with  your  ochre  and  carmine, 
)rn  patchwork  your  respectable  fingers  sewed 
metamorphose  somebody, — yes,  I  've  earned 
'  wages,  swallowed  down  my  bread  of  shame, 
d  shake  the  crumbs  off — where  but  in  your  face  ? 

for  religion — why,  I  served  it,  sir  I 
stick  to  that !     With  xvcj  phenomena 
lid  the  atheist  sprawling  on  his  back, 
)pped  up  Saint  Paul,  or,  at  least,  Swedenborg  ! 
fact,  it  's  just  the  proper  way  to  baulk 
ese  troublesome  fellows — liars,  one  and  all, 
2  not  these  sceptics  ?     Well,  to  baffle  them, 
'  use  in  being  squeamish  ;  lie  yourself ! 
ict  your  buttress  just  as  wide  o'  the  line, 
ur  side,  as  they  've  built  up  the  wall  on  theirs  ; 
lere  both  meet,  midway  in  a  point,  is  truth, 
gh  overhead  :  so,  take  your  room,  pile  bricks, 
; !     Oh,  there  's  titillation  in  all  shame  ! 
lat  snow  may  lose  in  white,  it  gains  in  rose  ! 
iss  Stokes  turns — Rahab, — nor  a  bad  exchange  ! 
3ry  be  on  her,  for  the  good  she  wrought, 
seding  belief  anew  'neath  ribs  of  death, 
3w-beating  now  the  unabashed  before, 


'S.S  DRAMATIS    PERSON.'F.. 

Ridding  us  of  their  whole  hfe's  gathered  straws 
By  a  live  coal  from  the  altar !     Why,  of  old, 
Great  men  spent  years  and  years  in  writing  books 
To  prove  we  've  souls,  and  hardly  proved  it  then  : 
Miss  Stokes  with  her  live  coal,  for  you  and  me  ! 
Surely,  to  this  good  issue,  all  was  fair — 
Not  only  fondling  Sludge,  but,  even  suppose 
He  let  escape  some  spice  of  knavery, — well, 
In  wisely  being  blind  to  it !     Don't  you  praise 
Nelson  for  setting  spy-glass  to  blind  eye 
And  saying  .  .  what  was  it — that  he  could  not  see 
The  signal  he  was  bothered  with  ?    Ay,  indeed  ! 

I  '11  go  beyond  :  there  's  a  real  love  of  a  lie. 

Liars  find  ready-made  for  lies  they  make, 

As  hand  for  glove,  or  tongue  for  sugar-plum. 

At  best,  't  is  never  pure  and  full  belief; 

Those  furthest  in  the  quagmire, — don't  suppose 

They  strayed  there  with  no  warning,  got  no  chance 

Of    a   filth-speck    in    their   face,   which    they   clencl 

teeth. 
Bent  brow  against  !     Be  sure  they  had  their  doubts, 
And  fears,  and  fairest  challenges  to  try 
The  floor  o'  the  seeming  solid  sand  !     But  no ! 
Their  faith  was  pledged,  acquaintance  too  apprised, 
■  All  but  the  last  step  ventured,  kerchiefs  waved, 
And  Sludge  called  "pet :"  't  was  easier  marching  on 
'J'o  the  promised  land ;  join  those  who,  Thursday  next 
Meant  to  meet  Shakespeare  ;  better  follow  Sludge — 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "  THE    MEDIUM."  1 89 

"udent,  oh  sure  ! — on  the  alert  how  else  ? 

jt  making  for  the  mid-bog,  all  the  same  ! 

D  hear  your  outcries,  one  would  think  I  caught 

iss  Stokes  by  the  scuff  o'  the  neck,  and  pitched  her  flat, 

)olish-face-foremost !     Hear  these  simpletons, 

lat  's  all  I  beg,  before  my  work  's  begun, 

jfore  I  've  touched  them  with  my  finger-tip  ! 

lus  they  await  me  (do  but  listen,  now  ! 

's  reasoning,  this  is, — I  can't  imitate 

le  baby  voice,  though)  "  In  so  many  tales 

Must  be  some  truth,  truth  though  a  pin-point  big, 

Yet,  some  :  a  single  man  's  deceived,  perhaps — 

Hardly,  a  thousand  :  to  suppose  one  cheat 

Can  gull  all  these,  were  more  miraculous  far 

Than  aught  we  should  confess  a  miracle  " — 

id  so  on.     Then  the  Judge  sums  up — (it 's  rare) 

ds  you  respect  the  authorities  that  leap 

D  the  judgment-seat  at  once, — why  don't  you  note 

16  limpid  nature,  the  unblemished  life, 

ie  spotless  honour,  indisputable  sense 

f  the  first  u[)Start  with  his  story  ?     What — 

itrage  a  boy  on  whom  you  ne'er  till  now 

t  eyes,  because  he  finds  raps  trouble  him  ? 

)ols,  these  are  :  ay,  and  how  of  their  opposites 
ho  never  did,  at  bottom  of  their  hearts, 
ilieve  for  a  moment  ? — Men  emasculate, 
ank  of  belief,  who  played,  as  eunuchs  use, 
ith  superstition  safely, — cold  of  blood, 


J 


190  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 

Who  saw  what  made  for  them  i'  the  mystery, 

Took  their  occasion,  and  supported  SUidge 

— As  proselytes  ?     No,  thank  you,  far  too  shrewd 

— But  promisers  of  fair  play,  encouragers 

O'  the  claimant ;  who  in  candour  needs  must  hoist 

Sludge  up  on  Mars'  Hill,  get  speech  out  of  Sludge 

To  carry  off,  criticize,  and  cant  about ! 

Did  n't  Athens  treat  Saint  Paul  so  ? — at  any  rate, 

It 's  "  a  new  thing,"  philosophy  fumbles  at. 

Then  there  's  the  other  picker  out  of  pearl 

From  dung  heaps, — ay,  your  literary  man. 

Who  draws  on  his  kid  gloves  to  deal  with  Sludge 

Daintily  and  discreetly, — shakes  a  dust 

O'  the  doctrine,  flavours  thence,  he  well  knows  how, 

The  narrative  or  the  novel, — half-believes. 

All  for  the  book's  sake,  and  the  public's  stare. 

And  the  cash  that 's  God's  sole  solid  in  this  world ! 

Look  at  him  !     Try  to  be  too  bold,  too  gross 

For  the  master  !     Not  you  !     He  's  the  man  for  muck 

Shovel  it  forth,  full-splash,  he  '11  smooth  your  brown 

Into  artistic  richness,  never  fear  ! 

Find  him  the  crude  stuff;  when  you  recognise 

Your  lie  again,  you  '11  doff  your  hat  to  it. 

Dressed  out  for  company  !     "  For  company," 

I  say,  since  there  's  the  relish  of  success  : 

Let  all  pay  due  respect,  call  the  lie  truth, 

Save  the  soft  silent  smirking  gentleman 

Who  ushered  in  the  stranger  :  you  must  sigh 

"  How  melancholy,  he,  the  only  one 


MR     SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM.  IQI 

"  Fails  to  perceive  the  bearing  of  the  truth 

*'  Himself  gave  birth  to  !  " — There  's  the  triumph's  smack  ! 

That  man  would  choose  to  see  the  vk^hole  world  roll 

r  the  slime  o'  the  slough,  so  he  might  touch  the  tip 

Of  his  brush  with  what  I  call  the  best  of  browns — 

Tint  ghost-tales,  spirit-stories,  past  the  power 

Of  the  outworn  umber  and  bistre  ! 

Yet  I  think 
There  's  a  more  hateful  form  of  foolery — 
The  social  sage's,  Solomon  of  saloons 
And  philosophic  diner-out,  the  fribble 
Who  wants  a  doctrine  for  a  chopping-block 
To  try  the  edge  of  his  faculty  upon, 
Prove  how  much  common  sense  he  '11  hack  and  hew 
r  the  critical  minute  'twixt  the  soup  and  fish  ! 
These  were  my  patrons  :  these,  and  'the  like  of  them 
Who,  rising  in  my  soul  now,  sicken  it, — 
These  I  have  injured  !     Gratitude  to  these  ? 
The  gratitude,  forsooth,  of  a  prostitute 
To  the  greenhorn  and  the  bully — friends  of  herS; 
From  the  wag  that  wants  the  queer  jokes  for  his  club, 
To  the  snuff-box-decorator,  honest  man. 
Who  just  was  at  his  wits'  end  where  tQ  find 
So  genial  a  Pasiphae  !     All  and  each 
Pay,  compliment,  protect  from  the  police, 
And  how  she  hates  them  for  their  pains,  like  me  ! 
So  much  for  my  remorse  at  thanklessness 
Toward  a  deserving  public  ! 


192  DRAMATIS    PERSON.^. 

But,  for  God  ? 
Ay,  that 's  a  question  !     Well,  sir,  since  you  press — 
(How  you  do  teaze  the  whole  thing  out  of  me  ! 
I  don't  mean  you,  you  know,  when  I  say  "  them  : " 
Hate  you,  indeed  !     But  that  Miss  Stokes,  that  Judge  ! 
Enough,  enough — with  sugar :  thank  you,  sir  !) 
Now  for  it,  then  !     Will  you  believe  me,  though  ? 
You  've  heard  what  I  confess ;  I  don't  unsay 
A  single  word  :  I  cheated  when  I  could, 
Rapped  with  ray  toe-joints,  set  sham  hands  at  work, 
Wrote  down  names  weak  in  sympathetic  ink, 
Rubbed  odic  lights  with  ends  of  phosphor-match, 
And  all  the  rest ;  believe  that :  believe  this, 
By  the  same  token,  though  it  seem  to  set 
The  crooked  straight  again,  unsay  the  said, 
Stick  up  what  I  've  thrown  down  ;  I  can't  help  that 
It  's  truth  !     I  somehow  vomit  truth  to-day. 
This  trade  of  mine—  I  don't  know,  can't  be  sure 
But  there  was  something  in  it,  tricks  and  all ! 
Really,  I  want  to  light  tip  my  own  mind. 
They  were  tricks,—  true,  but  what  I  mean  to  add 
Is  also  true.     First, — don't  it  strike  you,  sir? 
Go  back  to  the  beginning, — the  first  fact 
AVe  're  taught  is,  there  's  a  world  beside  this  world, 
With  spirits,  not  mankind,  for  tenantry  ; 
That  much  within  that  world  once  sojourned  here, 
That  all  upon  this  world  will  visit  there. 
And  therefore  that  we,  bodily  here  below, 
Must  have  exactly  such  an  interest 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM."  1 93 

In  learning  what  may  be  the  ways  o'  the  world 
Above  us,  as  the  disembodied  folk 
Have  (by  all  analogic  likelihood) 
In  watching  how  things  go  in  the  old  world 
With  us,  their  sons,  successors,  and  what  not. 
Oh,  yes,  with  added  powers  probably. 
Fit  for  the  novel  state, — old  loves  grown  pure, 
Old  interests  understood  aright, — they  watch  ! 
Eyes  to  see,  ears  to  hear,  and  hands  to  help, 
Proportionate  to  advancement :  they  're  ahead, 
That 's  all — do  what  we  do,  but  noblier  done— - 
Use  plate,  whereas  we  eat  our  meals  off  delf, 
(To  use  a  figure.) 

Concede  that,  and  I  ask 
Next  what  may  be  the  mode  of  intercourse 
Between  us  men  here,  and  those  once-men  there  ? 
First  comes  the  Bible's  speech ;  then,  history 
BWith  the  supernatural  element, — you  know — 
A.11  that  we  sucked  in  with  our  mothers'  milk. 
Grew  up  with,  got  inside  of  us  at  last, 
Till  it 's  found  bone  of  bone  and  flesh  of  flesh. 
See  now,  we  start  with  the  miraculous, 
\nd  know  it  used  to  be,  at  all  events : 
iVhat  's  the  first  step  we  take,  and  can't  but  take, 
n  arguing  from  the  known  to  the  obscure  ? 
'Vhy  this  :  "  What  was  before,  may  be  to-day. 
Since  Samuel's  ghost  appeared  to  Saul, — of  course 
My  brother's  spirit  may  appear  to  me." 
VOL.   VL  13 


'94  DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

Go  tell  your  teacher  that !     What  's  his  reply  ? 

What  brings  a  shade  of  doubt  for  the  first  time 

O'er  his  brow  late  so  luminous  with  faith  ? 

"  Such  things  have   been,"  says  he,  "  and  there  's  no 

doubt 
"  Such  things  may  be  :  but  I  advise  mistrust 
"  Of  eyes,  ears,  stomach,  and,  more  than  all,  your  brain, 
"  Unless  it  be  of  your  great-grandmother, 
"  Whenever  they  propose  a  ghost  to  you  ! " 
The  end  is,  there  's  a  composition  struck ; 
'T  is  settled,  we  've  some  way  of  intercourse 
Just  as  in  Saul's  time  ;  only,  different : 
How,  when  and  where,  precisely, — find  it  out ! 
I  want  to  know,  then,  what  's  so  natural 
As  that  a  person  born  into  this  world 
And  seized  on  by  such  teaching,  should  begin 
With  firm  expectancy  and  a  frank  look-out 
For  his  own  allotment,  his  especial  share 
1'  the  secret, — his  particular  ghost,  in  fine  ? 
I  mean,  a  person  born  to  look  that  way. 
Since  natures  differ  :  take  the  painter-sort. 
One  man  lives  fifty  years  in  ignorance 
Whether  grass  be  green  or  red, — "  No  kind  of  eye 
"  For  colour,"  say  you  ;  while  another  picks 
And  puts  away  even  pebbles,  when  a  child. 
Because  of  bluish  spots  and  pinky  veins — 
"  Give  him  forthwith  a  paint-box  ! "     Just  the  same 
Was  I  born  ..."  medium,"  you  won't  let  me  say, — 
Well,  seer  of  the  supernatural 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "  THE   MEDIUM."  I95 

Everywhen,  everyhow  and  everywhere, — 
Will  that  do  ? 


I  and  all  such  boys  of  course 
Started  with  the  same  stock  of  Bible-truth  ; 
Only, — what  in  the  rest  you  style  their  sense, 
Instinct,  blind  reasoning  but  imperative, 
This,  betimes,  taught  them  the  old  world  had  one  law 
And  ours  another  :  "  New  world,  new  laws,"  cried  they : 
"  None  but  old  laws,  seen  everywhere  at  work," 
Cried  I,  and  by  their  help  explained  my  life 
The  Jews'  way,  still  a  working  way  to  me. 
Ghosts  made  the  noises,  fairies  waved  the  Hghts, 
Or  Santaclaus  slid  down  on  New  Year's  Eve 
And  stuffed  with  cakes  the  stocking  at  my  bed, 
Changed  the  worn  shoes,  rubbed  clean  the  fingered  slate 
0'  the  sum  that  came  to  grief  the  day  before. 

This  could  not  last  long :  soon  enough  I  found 

Who  had  worked  wonders  thus,  and  to  what  end : 

But  did  I  find  all  easy,  like  my  mates  ? 

Henceforth  no  supernatural  any  more  ? 

Not  a  whit :  what  projects  the  billiard-balls? 

"  A  cue,"  you  answer  :  "  Yes,  a  cue,"  said  I ; 

"  But  what  hand,  off  the  cushion,  moved  the  cue  ? 

"  What  unseen  agency,  outside  the  world, 

"  Prompted  its  puppets  to  do  this  and  that, 

"  Put  cakes  and  shoes  and  slates  into  their  mind, 

"  These  mothers  and  aunts,  nay  even  schoolmasters  ?  " 


196  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

Thus  high  I  sprang,  and  there  have  settled  since. 

Just  so  I  reason,  in  sober  earnest  still, 

About  the  greater  godsends,  what  you  call 

The  serious  gains  and  losses  of  my  life. 

What  do  I  know  or  care  about  your  world 

Which  either  is  or  seems  to  be  ?    This  snap 

O'  my  fingers,  sir  !     My  care  is  for  myself; 

Myself  am  whole  and  sole  reality 

Inside  a  raree-show  and  a  market-mob 

Gathered  about  it :  that 's  the  use  of  things. 

'T  is  easy  saying  they  serve  vast  purposes. 

Advantage  their  grand  selves :  be  it  true  or  false, 

Each  thing  may  have  two  uses.     What 's  a  star  ? 

A  world,  or  a  world's  sun  :  does  n't  it  serve 

As  taper  also,  time-piece,  weather-glass. 

And  almanac  ?     Are  stars  not  set  for  signs 

When  we  should  shear  our  sheep,  sow  com,  prune  trees  ? 

The  Bible  says  so. 

Well,  I  add  one  use 
To  all  the  acknowledged  uses,  and  declare 
If  I  spy  Charles's  Wain  at  twelve  to-night, 
It  warns  me,  "  Go,  nor  lose  another  day, 
"  And  have  your  hair  cut.  Sludge  !"  You  laugh  :  and  why  ?| 
Were  such  a  sign  too  hard  for  God  to  give  ? 
No  :  but  Sludge  seems  too  little  for  such  grace  : 
Thank  you,  sir !     So  you  think,  so  does  not  Sludge ! 
When  you  and  good  men  gape  at  Providence, 
Go  into  historv  and  bid  us  mark 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM.  197 

Not  merely  powder-plots  prevented,  crowns 

Kept  on  kings'  heads  by  miracle  enough, 

But  private  mercies — oh,  you  've  told  me,  sir, 

Of  such  interpositions  !     How  yourself 

Once,  missing  on  a  memorable  day 

Your  handkerchief — ^just  setting  out,  you  know, — 

You  must  return  to  fetch  it,  lost  the  train. 

And  saved  your  precious  self  from  what  befell 

The  thirty-three  whom  Providence  forgot. 

You  tell,  and  ask  me  what  I  think  of  this  ? 

Well,  sir,  I  think  then,  since  you  needs  must  know. 

What  matter  had  you  and  Boston  city  to  boot 

Sailed  skyward,  like  burnt  onion-peelings  ?     Mucli 

To  you,  no  doubt :  for  me— undoubtedly 

The  cutting  of  my  hair  concerns  me  more, 

Because,  however  sad  the  truth  may  seem, 

Sludge  is  of  all-importance  to  himself. 

You  set  apart  that  day  in  every  year 

For  special  thanksgiving,  were  a  heathen  else  • 

Well,  I  who  cannot  boast  the  like  escape, 

Suppose  I  said  "  I  don't  thank  Providence 

"  For  my  part,  owing  it  no  gratitude  ?  " 

"  Nay,  but  you  owe  as  much  " — you  'd  tutor  me, 

"  You,  every  man  alive,  for  blessings  gained 

"  In  every  hour  o'  the  day,  could  you  but  know  ! 

"  I  saw  my  crowning  mercy :  all  have  such, 

"  Could  they  but  see  ! "     Well,  sir,  why  don't  they  see  ? 

Because  they  won't  look, — or  perhaps,  they  can't.'" 
Then,  sir,  suppose  I  can,  and  will,  and  do 


1 98  DRAMATIS    PERSON.Ii. 

Look,  microscopically  as  is  right, 

Into  each  hour  with  its  infinitude 

Of  influences  at  work  to  profit  Sludge  ? 

For  that 's  the  case :  I  've  sharpened  up  my  sight 

To  spy  a  providence  in  the  fire's  going  out, 

The  kettle's  boiling,  the  dime's  sticking  fast 

Despite  the  hole  i'  the  pocket.     Call  such  facts 

Fancies,  too  petty  a  work  for  Providence, 

And  those  same  thanks  which  you  exact  from  me. 

Prove  too  prodigious  payment :  thanks  for  what, 

If  nothing  guards  and  guides  us  little  men  ? 

No,  no,  sir  !     You  must  put  away  your  pride, 

Resolve  to  let  Sludge  into  partnership  ! 

I  live  by  signs  and  omens :  looked  at  the  roof 

Where  the  pigeons  settle — "  If  the  further  bird, 

"  The  white,  takes  wing  first,  I  '11  confess  when  thrashed 

"  Not,  if  the  blue  does  " — so  I  said  to  myself 

Last  week,  lest  you  should  take  me  by  surprise  : 

Oft"  flapped  the  white, — and  I  'm  confessing,  sir ! 

Perhaps  't  is  Providence's  whim  and  way 

With  only  me,  i'  the  world  :  how  can  you  tell  ? 

"  Because  unlikely  !  "     Was  it  likelier,  now. 

That  this  our  one  out  of  all  worlds  beside, 

The  what-d'you-call-'em  millions,  should  be  just 

Precisely  chosen  to  make  Adam  for,  , 

And  the  rest  o'  the  tale  ?   Yet  the  tale  's  true,  30U  know  j 

Such  undeserving  clod  was  graced  so  once  ; 

Why  not  graced  likewise  undeserving  Sludge  ? 

Are  we  merit-mongers,  flaunt  we  filthy  rags  ? 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM.  199 

All  you  can  bring  against  my  privilege 

Is,  that  another  way  was  taken  with  you, — 

Which  I  don't  question.     It  's  pure  grace,  my  luck. 

I  'm  broken  to  the  way  of  nods  and  winks, 

And  need  no  formal  summoning.     You  've  a  help  ; 

Holloa  his  name  or  whistle,  clap  your  hands, 

Stamp  with  your  foot  or  pull  the  bell :  all  's  one, 

He  understands  you  want  him,  here  he  comes. 

Just  so,  I  come  at  the  knocking :  you,  sir,  wait 

The  tongue  o'  the  bell,  nor  stir  before  you  catch 

Reason's  clear  tingle,  nature's  clapper  brisk, 

Or  that  traditional  peal  was  wont  to  cheer 

Your  mother's  face  turned  heavenward  :  short  of  these 

There 's  no  authentic  intimation,  eh  ? 

Well,  when  you  hear,  you  '11  answer  them,  start  up 

And  stride  into  the  presence,  top  of  toe, 

And  there  find  Sludge  beforehand.  Sludge  that  sprung 

At  noise  o'  the  knuckle  on  the  partition-wall ! 

I  think  myself  the  more  religious  man. 

Religion  's  all  or  nothing ;  it  's  no  mere  smile 

0'  contentment,  sigh  of  aspiration,  sir — 

No  quality  o'  the  finelier-tempered  clay 

Like  its  whiteness  or  its  lightness ;  rather,  stuff 

O'  the  very  stuff,  life  of  life,  and  self  of  self. 

I  tell  you,  men  won't  notice ;  when  they  do. 

They  '11  understand.     I  notice  nothing  else, 

I  'm  eyes,  ears,  mouth  of  me,  one  gaze  and  gape. 

Nothing  eludes  me,  everything  's  a  hint. 

Handle  and  help.     It 's  all  absurd,  and  yet 


200  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

There 's  something  in  it  all,  I  know  :  how  much  ? 

No  answer  !     What  does  that  prove  ?     Man  's  still  man, 

Still  meant  for  a  poor  blundering  piece  of  work 

When  all 's  done  ;  but,  if  somewhat 's  done,  like  this. 

Or  not  done,  is  the  case  the  same  ?    Suppose 

I  blunder  in  my  guess  at  the  true  sense 

O'  the  knuckle-summons,  nine  times  out  of  ten, — 

What  if  the  tenth  guess  happen  to  be  right  ? 

If  the  tenth  shovel-load  of  powered  quartz 

Yield  me  the  nugget  ?     I  gather,  crush,  sift  all, 

Pass  o'er  the  failure,  pounce  on  the  success. 

To  give  you  a  notion,  now — (let  who  wins,  laugh  !) 

When  first  I  see  a  man,  what  do  I  first  ? 

Why,  count  the  letters  which  make  up  his  name, 

And  as  their  number  chances,  even  or  odd, 

Arrive  at  my  conclusion,  trim  my  course  : 

Hiram  H.  Horsefall  is  your  honoured  name, 

And  have  n't  I  found  a  patron,  sir,  in  you  ? 

"  Shall  I  cheat  this  stranger  ?  "     I  take  apple-pips. 

Stick  one  in  either  canthus  of  my  eye, 

And  if  the  left  drops  first — (your  left,  sir,  stuck) 

I  'm  warned,  I  let  the  trick  alone  this  time. 

You,  sir,  who  smile,  superior  to  such  trash, 

You  judge  of  character  by  other  rules  : 

Don't  your  rules  sometimes  fail  you  ?     Pray,  what  rule 

Have  you  judged  Sludge  by  hitherto  ? 


You,  everybody  blunders,  just  as  I, 


Oh,  be  sure, 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "  THE   MEDIUM. 

In  simpler  things  than  these  by  far  !     For  see  : 
I  knew  two  farmers, — one,  a  wiseacre 
Who  studied  seasons,  rummaged  almanacs, 
Quoted  the  dew-point,  registered  the  frost, 
And  then  declared,  for  outcome  of  his  pains, 
Next  summer  must  be  dampish  :  't  was  a  drought. 
His  neighbour  prophesied  such  drought  would  fall, 
Saved  hay  and  com,  made  cent,  per  cent,  thereby. 
And  proved  a  sage  indeed  :  how  came  his  lore  ? 
Because  one  brindled  heifer,  late  in  March, 
Stiffened  her  tail  of  evenings,  and  somehow 
He  got  into  his  head  that  drought  was  meant ! 
I  don't  expect  all  men  can  do  as  much  : 
Such  kissing  goes  by  favour.     You  must  take 
A  certain  turn  of  mind  for  this, — a  twist 
r  the  flesh,  as  well.     Be  lazily  alive, 
Open-mouthed,  like  my  friend  the  anteater. 
Letting  all  nature's  loosely-guarded  motes 
Settle  and,  slick,  be  swallowed  !     Think  yourself 
The  one  i'  the  world,  the  one  for  whom  the  world 
Was  made,  expect  it  tickling  at  your  mouth  ! 
Then  will  the  swarm  of  busy  buzzing  flies. 
Clouds  of  coincidence,  break  egg-shell,  thrive, 
Breed,  multiply,  and  bring  you  food  enough. 

I  can't  pretend  to  mind  your  smiling,  sir  ! 
Oh,  what  you  mean  is  this  !     Such  intimate  way, 
Close  converse,  frank  exchange  of  offices, 
Strict  sympathy  of  the  immeasurably  great 


202  DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

With  the  infinitely  small,  betokened  here 

By  a  course  of  signs  and  omens,  raps  and  sparks, — 

How  does  it  suit  the  dread  traditional  text 

O'  the  "  Great  and  Terrible  Name  ?  "     Shall  the  Heaven 

of  Heavens 
Stoop  to  such  child's  play  ? 

Please  sir,  go  with  me 
A  moment,  and  I  '11  try  to  answer  you. 
The  "  Magnum  et  terribile "  (is  that  right  ?) 
Well,  folk  began  with  this  in  the  early  day  ; 
And  all  the  acts  they  recognised  in  proof 
Were  thunders,  lightnings,  earthquakes,  whirlwinds,  dealt 
Indisputably  on  men  whose  death  they  caused. 
There,  and  there  only,  folk  saw  Providence 
At  work, — and  seeing  it,  't  was  right  enough 
All  heads  should  tremble,  hands  wring  hands  amain, 
And  knees  knock  hard  together  at  the  breath 
O'  the  Name's  first  letter  ;  why,  the  Jews,  I  'm  told, 
Won't  write  it  down,  no,  to  this  very  hour. 
Nor  speak  aloud  :  you  know  best  if  't  be  so. 
Each  ague-fit  of  fear  at  end,  they  crept 
(Because  somehow  people  once  born  must  live) 
Out  of  the  sound,  sight,  swing  and  sway  o'  the  Name, 
Into  a  corner,  the  dark  rest  of  the  world. 
And  safe  space  where  as  yet  no  fear  had  reached  ; 
'T  was  there  they  looked  about  them,  breathed  again, 
And  felt  indeed  at  home,  as  we  might  say. 
The  current  o'  common  things,  the  daily  life. 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM.  203 

This  had  their  due  contempt ;  no  Name  pursued 

Man  from  the  mountain-top  where  fires  abide, 

To  his  particular  mouse-hole  at  its  foot 

Where  he  ate,  drank,  digested,  lived  in  short : 

Such  was  man's  vulgar  business,  far  too  small 

To  be  worth  thunder :  "  small,"  folk  kept  on,  "  small," 

With  much  complacency  in  those  great  days ! 

A  mote  of  sand,  you  know,  a  blade  of  grass — 

What  was  so  despicable  as  mere  grass. 

Except  perhaps  the  life  o'  the  worm  or  fly 

Which  fed  there?     These  were  "small"  and  men  were 

great. 
Well,  sir,  the  old  way  's  altered  somewhat  since. 
And  the  world  wears  another  aspect  now : 
Somebody  turns  our  spyglass  round,  or  else 
Puts  a  new  lens  in  it :  grass,  worm,  fly  grow  big  : 
We  find  great  things  are  made  of  little  things, . 
And  little  things  go  lessening  till  at  last 
Comes  God  behind  them.     Talk  of  mountains  now? 
We  talk  of  mould  that  heaps  the  mountain,  mites 
That  throng  the  mould,  and  God  that  makes  the  mites. 
The  Name  comes  close  behind  a  stomach-cyst, 
The  simplest  of  creations,  just  a  sac 
That 's  mouth,  heart,  legs  and  belly  at  once,  yet  lives 
And  feels,  and  could  do  neither,  we  conclude. 
If  simplified  still  further  one  degree  : 
The  small  becomes  the  dreadful  and  immense ! 
Lightning,  forsooth  ?     No  word  more  upon  that ! 
A  tin-foil  bottle,  a  strip  of  greasy  silk, 


204  DRAMATIS    PERSON^E. 

With  a  bit  of  wire  and  knob  of  brass,  and  there  S 
Your  dollar's-worth  of  hghtning  !  But  the  cyst — 
The  life  of  the  least  of  the  little  things  ? 

No,  no ! 
Preachers  and  teachers  try  another  tack, 
Come  near  the  truth  this  time  :  they  put  aside 
Thunder  and  lightning :  "  That  's  mistake,"  they  cry, 
"  Thunderbolts  fall  for  neither  fright  nor  sport, 
"  But  do  appreciable  good,  like  tides, 
"  Changes  o'  the  wind,  and  other  natural  facts — 
"  '  Good  '  meaning  good  to  man,  his  body  or  soul. 
"  Mediate,  immediate,  all  things  minister 
"  To  man, — that  's  settled  :  be  our  future  text 
"  '  We  are  His  children  ! '  "     So,  they  now  harangue 
About  the  intention,  the  contrivance,  all 
That  keeps  up  an  incessant  play  of  love, — 
See  the  Bridgewater  book. 

Amen  to  it ! 
Well,  sir,  I  put  this  question  :  I  'm  a  child  ? 
I  lose  no  time,  but  take  you  at  your  word  : 
How  shall  I  act  a  child's  part  properly? 
Your  sainted  mother,  sir, — used  you  to  live 
With  such  a  thought  as  this  a-worrying  you  ? 
"  She  has  it  in  her  power  to  throttle  me, 
"  Or  stab  or  poison  :  she  may  turn  me  out, 
"  Or  lock  me  in, — nor  stop  at  this  to-day, 
"  But  cut  me  off  to-morrow  from  the  estate 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM.  205 

"  I  look  for  " — (long  may  you  enjoy  it,  sir  !) 

**  In  brief,  she  may  unchild  the  child  I  am." 

You  never  had  such  crotchets  ?     Nor  have  I ! 

Who,  frank  confessing  childship  from  the  first, 

Cannot  both  fear  and  take  my  ease  at  once, 

So,  don't  fear, — know  w^hat  might  be,  well  enough, 

But  know  too,  child-like,  that  it  will  not  be, 

At  least  in  my  case,  mine,  the  son  and  heir 

0'  the  kingdom,  as  yourself  proclaim  my  style. 

But  do  you  fancy  I  stop  short  at  this  ? 

Wonder  if  suit  and  service,  son  and  heir 

Needs  must  expect,  I  dare  pretend  to  find  ? 

If,  looking  for  signs  proper  to  such  an  one, 

I  straight  perceive  them  irresistible  ? 

Concede  that  homage  is  a  son's  plain  right, 

And,  never  mind  the  nods  and  raps  and  winks, 

'T  is  the  pure  obvious  supernatural 

Steps  forward,  does  its  duty  :  why,  of  course  1 

I  have  presentiments  ;  my  dreams  come  true  : 

I  fancy  a  friend  stands  whistling  all  in  white 

Blithe  as  a  boblink,  and  he  's  dead  I  learn. 

I  take  dislike  to  a  dog  my  favourite  long. 

And  sell  him  ;  he  goes  mad  next  week  and  snaps. 

I  guess  that  stranger  will  turn  up  to-day 

I  have  not  seen  these  three  years  ;  there  's  his  knock. 

I  wager  "  sixty  peaches  on  that  tree  !  " — 

That  I  pick  up  a  dollar  in  my  walk. 

That  your  wife's  brother's  cousin's  name  was  George — 

And  win  on  all  points.     Oh,  you  wince  at  this  ? 


206  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

You  'd  fain  distinguish  between  gift  and  gift, 
Washington's  oracle  and  Sludge's  itch 
O'  the  elbow  when  at  whist  he  ought  to  trump  ? 
With  Sludge  it 's  too  absurd  ?    Fine^  draiv  the  line 
Somewhere,  hut,  sir,  your  somewhere  is  not  mifie  / 

Bless  us,  I  'm  turning  poet !     It 's  time  to  end. 
How  you  have  drawn  me  out,  sir  !     All  I  ask 
Is — am  I  heir  or  not  heir  ?     If  I  'm  he, 
Then,  sir,  remember,  that  same  personage 
(To  judge  by  what  we  read  i'  the  newspaper) 
Requires,  beside  one  nobleman  in  gold 
To  carry  up  and  down  his  coronet. 
Another  servant,  probably  a  duke, 
To  hold  egg-nogg  in  readiness  :  why  want 
Attendance,  sir,  when  helps  in  his  father's  house 
Abound,  I  'd  like  to  know  ? 

Enough  of  talk  ! 
My  fault  is  that  I  tell  too  plain  a  truth. 
Why,  which  of  those  who  say  they  disbelieve. 
Your  clever  people,  but  has  dreamed  his  dream, 
Caught  his  coincidence,  stumbled  on  his  fact 
He  can't  explain,  (he  '11  tell  you  smilingly) 
Which  he  's  too  much  of  a  philosopher 
To  count  as  supernatural,  indeed. 
So  calls  a  puzzle  and  problem,  proud  of  it : 
Bidding  you  still  be  on  your  guard,  you  know, 
Because  one  fact  don't  make  a  system  stand, 


MR.    SLQDGE,    "  THE   MEDIUM.  207 

Nor  prove  this  an  occasional  escape 

Of  spirit  beneath  the  matter  :  that 's  the  way  ! 

Just  so  wild  Indians  picked  up,  piece  by  piece, 

I'he  fact  in  California,  the  fine  gold 

That  underlay  the  gravel — hoarded  these, 

But  never  made  a  system  stand,  nor  dug ! 

So  wise  men  hold  out  in  each  hollowed  palm 

A  handful  of  experience,  sparkling  fact 

They  can't  explain  ;  and  since  their  rest  of  life 

Is  all  explainable,  what  proof  in  this  ? 

Whereas  I  take  the  fact,  the  grain  of  gold, 

And  fling  away  the  dirty  rest  of  life. 

And  add  this  grain  to  the  grain  each  fool  has  found 

O'  the  million  other  such  philosophers, — 

Till  I  see  gold,  all  gold  and  only  gold, 

Truth  questionless  though  unexplainable. 

And  the  miraculous  proved  the  commonplace  ! 

The  other  fools  beheved  in  mud,  no  doubt — 

Failed  to  know  gold  they  saw  :  was  that  so  strange  ? 

Are  all  men  born  to  play  Bach's  fiddle-fugues, 

"  Time  "  with  the  foil  in  carte,  jump  their  own  height, 

Cut  the  mutton  with  the  broadsword,  skate  a  five, 

Make  the  red  hazard  with  the  cue,  clip  nails 

While  swimming,  in  five  minutes  row  a  mile. 

Pull  themselves  three  feet  up  with  the  left  arm. 

Do  sums  of  fifty  figures  in  their  head, 

And  so  on,  by  the  scores  of  instances  ? 

The  Sludge  with  luck,  who  sees  the  spiritual  facts, 

His  fellows  strive  and  fail  to  see,  may  rank 


2o8  DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 

With  these,  and  share  the  advantage. 

Ay,  but  share 
The  drawback  !     Think  it  over  by  yourself; 
I  have  not  heart,  sir,  and  the  fire  's  gone  grey. 
Defect  somewhere  compensates  for  success, 
Everyone  knows  that.     Oh,  we  're  equals,  sir ! 
The  big-legged  fellow  has  a  little  arm 
And  a  less  brain,  though  big  legs  win  the  race : 
Do  you  suppose  I  'scape  the  common  lot  ? 
Say,  I  was  born  with  flesh  so  sensitive. 
Soul  so  alert,  that,  practice  helping  both, 
I  guess  what 's  going  on  outside  the  veil, 
Just  as  a  prisoned  crane  feels  pairing-time 
In  the  islands  where  his  kind  are,  so  must  fall 
To  capering  by  himself  some  shiny  night, 
As  if  your  back-yard  were  a  plot  of  spice — 
Thus  am  I  'ware  o'  the  spirit-world  :  while  you. 
Blind  as  a  beetle  that  way, — for  amends, 
Why,  you  can  double  fist  and  floor  me,  sir ! 
Ride  that  hot  hardmouthed  horrid  horse  of  yours, 
Laugh  while  it  lightens,  play  with  the  great  dog, 
Speak  your  mind  though  it  vex  some  friend  to  hear. 
Never  brag,  never  bluster,  never  blush, — 
In  short,  you  've  pluck,  when  I  'ra  a  coward — ther 
I  know  it,  1  can't  help  it,-™folly  or  no, 
I  'm  paralyzed,  my  hand  's  no  more  a  hand. 
Nor  my  head,  a  head,  in  danger  :  you  can  smile 
And  change  the  pipe  in  your  cheek.    Your  gift 's  not  mine. 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM.  2C9 

Would  you  swap  for  mine  ?     No  !  but  you  'd  add 
To  yours  :  1  dare  say  !     I  too  sigh  at  times, 
Wish  I  were  stouter,  could  tell  truth  nor  flinch, 
Kept  cool  when  threatened,  did  not  mind  so  mucl 
Being  dressed  gaily,  making  strangers  stare, 
Eating  nice  things  ;  when  I  'd  amuse  myself, 
I  shut  my  eyes  and  fancy  in  my  brain, 
I  'm— now  the  President,  now,  Jenny  Lind, 
Now,  Emerson,  now,  the  Benicia  Boy — 
With  all  the  civilized  world  a-wondering 
And  worshipping.     I  know  it  's  folly  and  worse ; 
I  feel  such  tricks  sap,  honeycomb  the  soul : 
But  I  can't  cure  myself, — despond,  despair, 
And  then,  hey,  presto,  there  's  a  turn  o'  the  wheel, 
Under  comes  uppermost,  fate  makes  full  amends  ; 
Sludge  knows  and  sees  and  hears  a  hundred  things 
You  all  are  blind  to, — I  've  my  taste  of  truth, 
Likewise  my  touch  of  falsehood, — vice  no  doubt, 
But  you've  your  vices  also  :  I  'm  content. 

What,  sir?  You  won't  shake  hands?   "Because  I  cheat !  " 
"  You  've  found  me  out  in  cheating  !  "     That  's  enough 
To  make  an  apostle  swear !     Why,  when  I  cheat, 
Mean  to  cheat,  do  cheat,  and  am  caught  m  the  act, 
Are  you,  or  rather,  am  I  sure  d  the  fact  1 
(There  's  verse  again,  but  I  'm  inspired  somehow.) 
Well  then  I  'm  not  sure  !  I  may  be,  perhaps, 
Free  as  a  babe  from  cheating :  how  it  began, 
My  gift, — no  matter ;  what  't  is  got  to  be 
VOL.  vL  14 


DRAMATIS    PERSONiE. 


In  the  end  now,  that  's  the  question ;  answer  that ! 

Had  I  seen,  perhaps,  what  hand  was  holding  mine, 

Leading  me  whither,  I  had  died  of  fright. 

So,  I  was  made  believe  I  led  myself. 

If  I  should  lay  a  six-inch  plank  from  roof 

To  roof,  you  would  not  cross  the  street,  one  step, 

Even  at  your  mother's  summons  :  but,  being  shrewd, 

If  I  paste  paper  on  each  side  the  plank 

And  swear  'tis  solid  pavement,  why,  you'll  cross 

Humming  a  tune  the  while,  in  ignorance 

Beacon  Street  stretches  a  hundred  feet  below : 

I  walked  thus,  took  the  paper-cheat  for  stone. 

Some  impulse  made  me  set  a  thing  o'  the  move 

Which,  started  once,  ran  really  by  itself; 

Beer  flows  thus,  suck  the  siphon  ;  toss  the  kite, 

It  takes  the  wind  and  floats  of  its  own  force. 

Don't  let  truth's  lump  rot  stagnant  for  the  lack 

Of  a  timely  helpful  lie  to  leaven  it ! 

Put  a  chalk-egg  beneath  the  clucking  hen, 

She  'U  lay  a  real  one,  laudably  deceived, 

Daily  for  weeks  to  come.     I  've  told  my  lie, 

And  seen  truth  follow,  marvels  none  of  mine ; 

All  was  not  cheating,  sir,  I  'm  positive ! 

I  don't  know  if  I  move  your  hand  sometimes 

When  the  spontaneous  writing  spreads  so  far. 

If  my  knee  lifts  the  table  all  that  height, 

Why  the  inkstand  don't  fall  off  the  desk  a-tilt, 

Why  the  accordion  plays  a  prettier  waltz 

Than  I  can  pick  out  on  the  piano-forte, 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE    MEDIUM.  211 

Why  I  speak  so  much  more  than  I  intend, 
Describe  so  many  things  I  never  saw. 
I  tell  you,  sir,  in  one  sense,  I  believe 
Nothing  at  all, — that  everybody  can, 
Will,  and  does  cheat :  but  in  another  sense 
I  'm  ready  to  believe  my  very  self — 
That  every  cheat  's  inspired,  and  every  lie 
Quick  with  a  germ  of  truth. 

You  ask  perhaps 
Why  I  should  condescend  to  trick  at  all 
If  I  know  a  way  without  it  ?     This  is  why ! 
There  's  a  strange  secret  sweet  self-sacrifice 
In  any  desecration  of  one  's  soul 
To  a  worthy  end, — is  n't  it  Herodotus 
(I  wish  I  could  read  Latin  !)  who  describes 
The  single  gift  o'  the  land's  virginity. 
Demanded  in  those  old  Egyptian  rites, 
(I  've  but  a  hazy  notion — help  me,  sir  !) 
For  one  purpose  in  the  world,  one  day  in  a  life, 
One  hour  in  a  day — thereafter,  purity, 
And  a  veil  thrown  o  'er  the  past  for  evermore  ! 
Well  now,  they  understood  a  many  things 
Down  by  Nile  city,  or  wherever  it  was  ! 
I  've  always  vowed,  after  the  minute's  lie, 
And  the   end's   gain, — truth   should  be    mine    hence- 
forth. 
This  goes  to  the  root  o'  the  matter,  sir, — this  plain 
Plump  fact :  accept  it  and  unlock  with  it 


212  DRAMATIS   PERSONA 

The  wards  of  many  a  puzzle  ! 

Or,  finally, 
Why  should  I  set  so  fine  a  gloss  on  things  ? 
What  need  I  care  ?     I  cheat  in  self-defence, 
And  there  's  my  answer  to  a  world  of  cheats  ! 
Cheat  ?    To  be  sure,  sir  !    What 's  the  world  worth  else  ? 
Who  takes  it  as  he  finds,  and  thanks  his  stars  ? 
Don't  it  want  trimming,  turning,  furbishing  up 
And  polishing  over  ?     Your  so-styled  great  men. 
Do  they  accept  one  truth  as  truth  is  found, 
Or  try  their  skill  at  tinkering  ?     What  's  >our  world  ? 
Here  are  you  born,  who  are,  I  '11  say  at  once, 
Of  the  luckiest  whether  in  head  and  heart, 
Body  and  soul,  or  all  that  helps  the  same. 
\\^ell,  now,  look  back  :  what  faculty  of  yours 
Came  to  its  full,  had  ample  justice  done 
By  growing  when  rain  fell,  biding  its  time, 
Solidifying  growth  when  earth  was  dead, 
Spiring  up,  broadening  wide,  in  seasons  due  ? 
Never  !     VTou  shot  up  and  frost  nipped  you  off, 
Settled  to  sleep  when  sunshine  bade  you  sprout ; 
One  faculty  thwarted  its  fellow :  at  the  end. 
All  you  boast  is,  '*  I  had  proved  a  topping  tree 
In  other  climes  " — yet  this  was  the  right  clime 
Had  you  foreknown  the  seasons.     Young,  you  've  force 
Wasted  like  well-streams  :  old, — oh,  then  indeed, 
Behold  a  labyrinth  of  hydraulic  pipes 
Through  which  you  'd  play  off  wondrous  waterwork ; 


, 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM.  213 

Only,  no  water  left  to  feed  their  play. 

Young, — you  've  a  hope,  an  aim,  a  love ;  it 's  tossed 

And  crossed  and  lost :  you  struggle  on,  some  spark 

Shut  in  your  heart  against  the  pufls  around, 

Through  cold  and  pain ;  these  in  due  time  subside, 

Now  then  for  age's  triumph,  the  hoarded  light 

You  mean  to  loose  on  the  altered  face  of  things, — 

Up  with  it  on  the  tripod  !     It 's  extinct. 

Spend  your  life's  remnant  asking,  which  was  best, 

Light  smothered  up  that  never  peeped  forth  once, 

Or  the  cold  cresset  with  full  leave  to  shine  ? 

Well,  accept  this  too, — seek  the  fruit  of  it 

Not  in  enjoyment,  proved  a  dream  on  earth, 

But  knowledge,  useful  for  a  second  chance, 

Another  life, — you  've  lost  this  world — you  've  gained 

Its  knowledge  for  the  next. — What  knowledge,  sir. 

Except  that  you  know  nothing  ?     Nay,  you  doubt 

Whether  't  were  better  have  made  you  man  or  brute. 

If  aught  be  true,  if  good  and  evil  clash. 

No  foul,  no  fair,  no  inside,  no  outside, 

There  's  your  world  ! 

Give  it  me  !  I  slap  it  brisk 
With  harlequin's  pasteboard  sceptre  :  what  's  it  now  ? 
Changed  like  a  rock-flat,  rough  with  rusty  weed, 
At  first  wash-over  o'  the  returning  wave  ! 
All  the  dry  dead  impracticable  stuff 
Starts  into  life  and  light  again  ;  this  world 
Pervaded  by  the  influx  from  the  next.     . 


214  DRAMATIS   PERSONiC. 

I  cheat,  and  what 's  the  happy  consequence  ? 

You  find  full  justice  straightway  dealt  you  out, 

Each  want  supplied,  each  ignorance  set  at  ease, 

Each  folly  fooled.     No  life-long  labour  now 

As  the  price  of  worse  than  nothing !     No  mere  film 

Holding  you  chained  in  iron,  as  it  seems, 

Against  the  outstretch  of  your  very  arms 

And  legs  i'  the  sunshine  moralists  forbid  ! 

What  would  you  have  ?    Just  speak  and,  there,  you  see  ! 

You  're  supplemented,  made  a  whole  at  last. 

Bacon  advises,  Shakespeare  writes  you  songs, 

And  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  embraces  you. 

Thus  it  goes  on,  not  quite  like  life  perhaps, 

But  so  near,  that  the  very  difference  piques. 

Shows  that  e'en  better  than  this  best  will  be — 

This  passing  entertainment  in  a  hut 

Whose  bare  walls  take  your  taste  since,  one  stage  more. 

And  you  arrive  at  the  palace  :  all  half  real, 

And  you,  to  suit  it,  less  than  real  beside. 

In  a  dream,  lethargic  kind  of  death  in  life, 

That  helps  the  interchange  of  natures,  flesh 

Transfused  by  souls,  and  such  souls  !     Oh,  'tis  choice  ! 

And  if  at  whiles  the  bubble,  blown  too  thin. 

Seem  nigh  on  bursting, — if  you  nearly  see 

The  real  world  through  the  false, — what  do  you  see  ? 

Is  the  old  so  ruined  ?     You  find  you  're  in  a  flock 

O'  the  youthful,  earnest,  passionate — genius,  beauty. 

Rank  and  wealth  also,  if  you  care  for  these. 

And  all  depose  their  natural  rights,  hail  you, 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "THE   MEDIUM.  215 

(That  's  me,  sir)  as  their  mate  and  yoke-fellow. 

Participate  in  Sludgehood— nay,  grow  mine, 

I  veritably  possess  them — banish  doubt, 

And  reticence  and  modesty  alike  ! 

Why,  here  's  the  Golden  Age,  old  Paradise 

Or  new  Eutopia  !     Here  is  life  indeed, 

And  the  world  well  won  now,  yours  for  the  first  time  ! 

And  all  this  might  be,  may  be,  and  with  good  help 

Of  a  little  lying  shall  be  :  so.  Sludge  lies  ! 

Why,  he  's  at  worst  your  poet  who  sings  how  Greeks 

That  never  were,  in  Troy  which  never  was. 

Did  this  or  the  other  impossible  great  thing  ! 

He  's  Lowell — it 's  a  world,  you  smile  and  say. 

Of  his  own  invention — wondrous  Longfellow, 

Surprising  Hawthorne  !     Sludge  does  more  than  they, 

And  acts  the  books  they  write :  the  more  his  praise  ! 

But  why  do  I  mount  to  poets  ?    Take  plain  prose — 
Dealers  in  common  sense,  set  these  at  work. 
What  can  they  do  without  their  helpful  lies  ? 
Each  states  the  law  and  fact  and  face  o'  the  thing 
Just  as  he  'd  have  them,  finds  what  he  thinks  fit, 
Is  blind  to  what  missuits  him,  just  records 
What  makes  his  case  out,  quite  ignores  the  rest. 
It  's  a  History  of  the  World,  the  Lizard  Age, 
The  Early  Indians,  the  Old  Country  War, 
Jerome  Napoleon,  whatsoever  you  please, 
All  as  the  author  wants  it.     Such  a  scribe 


I 


2l6  DRAMATIS   PERSON.^. 

You  pay  and  praise  for  putting  life  in  stones, 

Fire  into  fog,  making  the  past  your  world. 

There  's  plenty  of  "  How  did  you  contrive  to  grasp 

"  The  thread  which  led  you  through  this  labyrinth  ? 

"  How  build  such  solid  fabric  out  of  air? 

"  How  on  so  slight  foundation  found  this  tale, 

"  Biography,  narrative  ?  "  or,  in  other  words, 

"  How  many  lies  did  it  require  to  make 

"  The  pordy  truth  you  here  present  us  with  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  quoth  the  penman,  purring  at  your  praise, 

"  'T  is  fancy  all ;  no  particle  of  fact : 

"  I  was  poor  and  threadbare  when  I  wrote  that  book 

"  '  Bliss  in  the  Golden  City.'     I,  at  Thebes  ? 

"  We  writers  paint  out  of  our  heads,  you  see  !  " 

"  — Ah,  the  more  wonderful  the  gift  in  you, 

"  The  more  creativeness  and  godlike  craft ! " 

But  I,  do  I  present  you  with  my  piece. 

It 's  "  What,  Sludge  ?    When  my  sainted  mother  spoke 

"  The  verses  Lady  Jane  Grey  last  composed 

"  About  the  rosy  bower  in  the  seventh  heaven 

"  Where  she  and  Queen  Elizabeth  keep  house, — 

"  You  made  the  raps  ?     'T  was  your  invention  that  ? 

"  Cur,  slave  and  devil ! " — eight  fingers  and  two  thumbs 

Stuck  in  my  throat ! 

Well,  if  the  marks  seem  gone, 
'T  is  because  stiffish  cock-tail,  taken  in  time, 
Is  better  for  a  bruise  than  arnica. 
There,  sir !  I  bear  no  malice  :  't  is  n't  in  me. 


MR.    SLUDGE,    "  THE    MEDIUM.'  217 

J  know  I  acted  wrongly  :  still,  I  've  tried 
What  I  could  say  in  my  excuse,—  to  show 
The  devil  's  not  all  devil  ...  I  do  n't  pretend, 
An  angel,  much  less  such  a  gentleman 
As  you,  sir !     And  I  've  lost  you,  lost  myself, 
Lost  all,  1-1-1-  .... 

No — are  you  in  earnest,  sir  ? 
O,  yours,  sir,  is  an  angel's  part !     I  know 
What  prejudice  prompts,  and  what  's  the  common  course 
Men  take  to  soothe  their  ruffled  self-conceit : 
Only  you  rise  superior  to  it  all ! 
No,  sir,  it  do  n't  hurt  much ;  it 's  speaking  long 
That  makes  me  choke  a  litde  :  the  marks  will  go ! 
What  ?     Twenty  V-notes  more,  and  outfit  too, 
And  not  a  word  to  Greeley  ?     One — one  kiss 
0'  the  hand  that  saves  me  !     You  '11  not  let  me  speak 
I  well  know,  and  I  've  lost  the  right,  too  true ! 
But  I  must  say,  sir,  if  She  hears  (she  does) 
Your  sainted  .  .  .  Well,  sir, — be  it  so  !     That  's,  I  think, 
My  bed-room  candle.     Good-night !     Bl-1-less  you,  sir  ! 


R-r-r,    you    brute -beast    and    blackguard !      Cowardly 

scamp  ! 
I  only  wish  I  dared  bum  down  the  house 
And  spoil  your  sniggering  !     Oh,  what,  you  're  the  man  ? 
You  're  satisfied  at  last  ?    You  've  found  out  Sludge  ? 


2r8  DRAMATIS    PERSON.?;, 

We  '11  see  that  presently :  my  turn,  sir,  next ! 
I  too  can  tell  my  story  :  brute, — do  you  hear  ? — 
You  throttled  your  sainted  mother,  that  old  hag, 
In  just  such  a  fit  of  passion  :  no,  it  was  .  .  . 
To  get  this  house  of  hers,  and  many  a  note 
Like  these  ...  I  '11  pocket  them,  however  .  .  .  five, 
Ten,  fifteen  ...  ay,  you  gave  her  throat  the  twist. 
Or  else  you  poisoned  her !     Confound  the  cuss  ! 
Where  was  my  head  ?     I  ought  to  have  prophesied 
He  '11  die  in  a  year  and  join  her :  that 's  the  way. 

I  don't  know  where  my  head  is :  what  had  I  done  ? 

How  did  it  all  go  ?     I  said  he  poisoned  her, 

And  hoped  he  'd  have  grace  given  him  to  repent. 

Whereon  he  picked  this  quarrel,  bullied  me 

And  called  me  cheat :  I  thrashed  him, — who  could  help  ? 

He  howled  for  mercy,  prayed  me  on  his  knees 

To  cut  and  run  and  save  him  from  disgrace  : 

I  do  so,  and  once  off,  he  slanders  me. 

An  end  of  him  !     Begin  elsewhere  anew  ! 

Boston  's  a  hole,  the  herring-pond  is  wide, 

V-notes  are  something,  liberty  still  more. 

Beside,  is  he  the  only  fool  in  the  world  ? 


APPARENT   FAILURE. 


"  We  shall  soon  lose  a  celebrated  building." 

Paris  Newspaper. 

I. 

No,  for  I  '11  save  it !     Seven  years  since 

I  passed  through  Paris,  stopped  a  day 
To  see  the  baptism  of  your  Prince  j 

Saw,  made  my  bow,  and  went  my  way  : 
Walking  the  heat  and  headache  ofif, 

I  took  the  Seine-side,  you  surmise, 
Thought  of  the  Congress,  Gortschakoff, 

Cavour's  appeal  and  Buol's  replies, 
So  sauntered  till — what  met  my  eyes  ? 


Only  the  Doric  little  Morgue ! 

The  dead-house  where  you  show  your  drowned  : 
Petrarch's  Vaucluse  makes  proud  the  Sorgue, 

Your  Morgue  has  made  the  Seine  renowned. 
One  pays  one's  debt  in  such  a  case  ; 

I  plucked  up  heart  and  entered, — stalked, 
Keeping  a  tolerable  face 

Compared  with  some  whose  cheeks  were  chalked 
^et  them  !     No  Briton  's  to  be  baulked  ! 


2  20  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 


First  came  the  silent  gazers ;  next, 

A  screen  of  glass,  we  're  thankful  for ; 
Last,  the  sight's  self,  the  sermon's  text. 

The  three  men  who  did  most  abhor 
Their  life  in  Paris  yesterday. 

So  killed  themselves  :  and  now,  enthroned 
Each  on  his  copper  couch,  they  lay 

Fronting  me,  waiting  to  be  owned. 
I  thought,  and  think,  their  sin 's  atoned.  ' 


IV. 

Poor  men,  God  made,  and  all  for  that ! 

The  reverence  struck  me ;  o'er  each  head 
Religiously  was  hung  its  hat. 

Each  coat  dripped  by  the  owner's  bed, 
Sacred  from  touch  :  each  had  his  berth, 

His  bounds,  his  proper  place  of  rest, 
Who  last  night  tenanted  on  earth 

Some  arch,  where  twelve  such  slept  abreast, - 
Unless  the  plain  asphalte  seemed  best. 


V. 

How  did  it  happen,  my  poor  boy  ? 

You  wanted  to  be  Buonaparte 
And  have  the  Tuileries  for  toy. 

And  could  not,  so  it  broke  your  heart  ? 


APPARENT    FAILURE.  2  2  r 


You,  old  one  by  his  side,  I  judge, 

Were,  red  as  blood,  a  socialist, 
A  leveller !     Does  the  Empire  grudge 

You  've  gained  what  no  Republic  missed  ? 
Be  quiet,  and  unclench  your  fist ! 


VI. 

And  this — why,  he  was  red  in  vain. 

Or  black, — poor  fellow  that  is  blue  ! 
What  fancy  was  it,  turned  your  brain  ? 

Oh,  women  were  the  prize  for  you  ! 
Money  gets  women,  cards  and  dice 

Get  money,  and  ill-luck  gets  just 
The  copper  couch  and  one  clear  nice 

Cool  squirt  of  water  o'er  your  bust, 
The  right  thing  to  extinguish  lust ! 


vn. 

It 's  wiser  being  good  than  bad ; 

It 's  safer  being  meek  than  fierce  : 
It 's  fitter  being  sane  than  mad. 

My  own  hope  is,  a  sun  will  pierce 
The  thickest  cloud  earth  ever  stretched  ; 

That,  after  Last,  returns  the  First, 
Though  a  wide  compass  round  be  fetched  ; 

That  what  began  best,  can't  end  worst. 
Nor  what  God  blessed  once,  prove  accurst 


EPILOGUE. 


FIRST  SPEAKER,  as  David. 

I. 

On  the  first  of  the  Feast  of  Feasts, 

The  Dedication  Day, 
When  the  Levites  joined  the  Priests 

At  the  Altar  in  robed  array, 
Gave  signal  to  sound  and  say, — 

II. 
When  the  thousands,  rear  and  van, 

Swarming  with  one  accord. 
Became  as  a  single  man, 

(Look,  gesture,  thought  and  word) 
In  praising  and  thanking  the  Lord, — 

III. 
When  the  singers  lift  up  their  voice, 

And  the  trumpets  made  endeavour, 
Sounding,  "  In  God  rejoice  !  " 

Saying,  "  In  Him  rejoice 
*'  Whose  mercy  endureth  for  ever  ! "— 


EPILOGUE.  223 


IV. 

Then  the  Temple  filled  with  a  cloud, 
Even  the  House  of  the  Lord  ; 

Porch  bent  and  pillar  bowed  : 
For  the  presence  of  the  Lord, 

In  the  glory  of  His  cloud, 

Had  filled  the  House  of  the  Lord. 


SECOND  SPEAKER,  OS  Renatt. 

Gone  now  !     All  gone  across  the  dark  so  far, 

Sharpening  fast,  shuddering  ever,  shutting  still. 
Dwindling  into  the  distance,  dies  that  star 

Which  came,  stood,  opened  once  !     We  gazed  our  fill 
With  upturned  faces  on  as  real  a  Face 

That,  stooping  from  grave  music  and  mild  fire. 
Took  in  our  homage,  made  a  visible  place 

Through  many  a  depth  of  glory,  gyre  on  gyre, 
For  the  dim  human  tribute.     Was  this  true  ? 

Could  man  indeed  avail,  mere  praise  of  his. 
To  help  by  rapture  God's  own  rapture  too. 

Thrill  with  a  heart's  red  tinge  that  pure  pale  bliss  ? 
Why  did  it  end  ?     Who  failed  to  beat  the  breast, 

And  shriek,  and  throw  the  arms  protesting  wide, 
When  a  first  shadow  showed  the  star  addressed 

Itself  to  motion,  and  on  either  side 
The  rims  contracted  as  the  rays  retired  ; 

The  music,  like  a  fountain's  sickening  pulse, 


2  24  DRAMATIS   PERSONiB. 

Subsided  on  itself;  awhile  transpired 

Some  vestige  of  a  Face  no  pangs  convulse, 
No  prayers  retard  ;  then  even  this  was  gone, 

Lost  in  the  night  at  last     We,  lone  and  left 
Silent  through  centuries,  ever  and  anon 

Venture  to  probe  again  the  vault  bereft 
Of  all  now  save  the  lesser  lights,  a  mist 

Of  multitudinous  points,  yet  suns,  men  say — 
And  this  leaps  ruby,  this  lurks  amethyst, 

But  where  may  hide  what  came  and  loved  our  clay  ? 
How  shall  the  sage  detect  in  yon  expanse 

The  star  which  chose  to  stoop  and  stay  for  us  ? 
Unroll  the  records  !     Hailed  ye  such  advance 

Indeed,  and  did  your  hope  evanish  thus  ? 
Watchers  of  twilight,  is  the  worst  averred  ? 

We  shall  not  look  up,  know  ourselves  are  seen, 
Speak,  and  be  sure  that  we  again  are  heard. 

Acting  or  suffering,  have  the  disk's  serene 
Reflect  our  life,  absorb  an  earthly  flame. 

Nor  doubt  that,  were  mankind  inert  and  numb, 
Its  core  had  never  crimsoned  all  the  same, 

Nor,  missing  ours,  its  music  fallen  dumb  ? 
Oh,  dread  succession  to  a  dizzy  post. 

Sad  sway  of  sceptre  whose  mere  touch  appals. 
Ghastly  dethronement,  cursed  by  those  the  most 

On  whose  repugnant  brow  the  crown  next  falls ! 


EPILOGUE.  22$ 


THIRD  SPEAKER. 


Witless  alike  of  will  and  way  divine, 

How  heaven's  high  with  earth's  low  should  intertwine  ! 

Friends,  I  have  seen  through  your  eyes  :  now  use  mine  ! 


Take  the  least  man  of  all  mankind,  as  I ; 
Look  at  his  head  and  heart,  find  how  and  why- 
He  differs  from  his  fellows  utterly  : 


Then,  like  me,  watch  when  nature  by  degrees 
Grows  alive  round  him,  as  in  Arctic  seas 
(They  said  of  old)  the  instinctive  water  flees 


Toward  some  elected  point  of  central  rock, 
As  though,  for  its  sake  only,  roamed  the  flock 
■  Of  waves  about  the  waste  :  awhile  they  mock 
VOL.  VI.  15 


2  26  DRAMATIS   PERSONiE. 


With  radiance  caught  for  the  occasion, — hues 
Of  blackest  hell  now,  now  such  reds  and  blues 
As  only  heaven  could  fitly  interfuse, — 


The  mimic  monarch  of  the  whirlpool,  king 
O'  the  current  for  a  minute  :  then  they  wring 
Up  by  the  roots  and  oversweep  the  thing, 


And  hasten  off,  to  play  again  elsewhere 
The  same  part,  choose  another  peak  as  bare, 
They  find  and  flatter,  feast  and  finish  there. 

VIII. 

When  you  see  what  I  tell  you, — nature  dance 

About  each  man  of  us,  retire,  advance, 

As  though  the  pageant's  end  were  to  enhance 


His  worth,  and — once  the  life,  his  product,  gained- 
Roll  away  elsewhere,  keep  the  strife  sustained, 
And  show  thus  real,  a  thing  the  North  but  feigned 


EPILOGUE. 


(27 


When  you  acknowledge  that  one  world  could  do 
All  the  diverse  work,  old  yet  ever  new, 
Divide  us,  each  from  other,  me  from  you, — 


Why,  where  's  the  need  of  Temple,  when  the  walls 
O'  the  world  are  that  ?     What  use  of  swells  and  falls 
From  Levites'  choir.  Priests'  cries,  and  trumpet-calls  ? 


That  one  Face,  far  from  vanish,  rather  grows, 
Or  decomposes  but  to  recompose. 
Become  my  universe  that  feels  and  knows  ! 


END   OF  VOL.    VI. 


GENERAL    INDEX. 


VOL.    I. 

Page 

Pauline i 

Paracelsus    43 

Strafford 207 

VOL.    IL 

SORDELLO     I 

PippA  Passes 219 

VOL.  in. 

King  Victor  and  King  Charles i 

Dramatic  Lyrics  :— 73 

Cavalier  Tunes 75 

The  Lost  Leader 78 

•'  How  they  brought  the  Good  News  from  Ghent 

to  Aix" 80 

Through  the  Metidja  to  Abd-el-Kadr 83 

NationaUty  in  Drinks 85 

Garden  Fancies   87 

Soliloquy  of  the  Spanish  Cloister 92 

The  Laboratory  95 


230  GENERAL   INDEX. 

Paga 

Dramatic  'L\K\cs—{Couti>iued. ) 

The  Confessional 98 

Cristina  „ 10 1 

The  Lost  Mistress „ 104 

Earth's  Immortalities  105 

Meeting  at  Night  „ 106 

Parting  at  Morning  107 

Song  107 

A  Woman's  Last  Word  108 

Evelyn  Hope 1 10 

Love  among  the  Ruins 112 

A  Lovers*  Quarrel    115 

Up  at  a  Villa — Down  in  the  City  122 

A  Toccata  of  Galuppi's   127 

Old  Pictures  in  Florence 131 

"  De  Gustibus— " 143 

Home-Thoughts,  from  Abroad  145 

Home-Thoughts,  from  the  Sea  146 

Saul     146 

My  Star 170 

By  the  Fire-side    170 

^^--  Any  Wife  to  Any  Husband 182 

Two  in  the  Campagna „ 188 

Misconceptions 191 

A  Serenade  at  the  Villa  191 

One  Way  of  Love 194 

Another  Way  of  Love 195 

A  Pretty  Woman 197 

Respectability    201 

Love  in  a  Life  202 

Life  in  a  Love   203 

In  Three  Days  204 

In  a  Year  ~ 205 


GENERAL    INDEX.  23  I 

Page 

Dramatic  'Lyiacs— [Continued. ) 

Women  and  Roses    209 

Before 211 

After 213 

The  Guardian-Angel    214 

Memorabilia 217 

Popularity 2 1 8 

Master  Hugues  of  Saxe-Gotha   221 

The  Return  of  the  Druses 229 


VOL.    IV. 

A  Blot  in  the  'Scutcheon    i 

Colombe's  Birthday   61 

Dramatic  Romances  : — 145 

Incident  of  the  F'rench  Camp 147 

The  Patriot    149 

My  Last  Duchess 150 

Count  Gismond 1 53 

The  Boy  and  the  Angel  158 

Instans  TjTannus 162 

Mesmerism 165 

The  Glove 1 7 1 

Time's  Revenges  178 

The  Italian  in  England    180 

The  Englishman  in  Italy 186 

.   In  a  Gondola 196 

Waring  206 

The  Twins 216 

A  Light  Woman  — 217 

The  Last  Ride  Together 220 


23  :i  GENERAL    INDEX. 

i'age 

Dramatic  Ro^slA^scES  —{Co/id'nufd. ) 

The  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin 225 

The  Flight  of  the  Duchess  237 

A  Grammarian's  Funeral 270 

The  Heretic's  Tragedy 275 

Holy-Cross  Day    280 

Protus 286 

The  Statue  and  the  Bust 288 

Porphyria's  Lover 299 

"Childe  Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  Came"  301 


VOL.    V. 

A  Soul's  Tragedy i 

LuRiA 43 

Christmas-Eve  and  Easter-Day 115 

Men  and  Women  : — 205 

"  Transcendentalism  :  A  Poem  in  Twelve  Books  " 207 

How  it  Strikes  a  Contemporary 209 

Lrtemis  Prologizes   213 

An  Episde '. 2 1 8 

Johannes  Agricola  in  Meditation    229 

Pictor  Ignotus   231 

Fra  Lippo  Lippi  234 

Andrea  Del  Sarto 248 

The  Bishop  orders  his  Tomb  at  Saint  Praxed's  Church  257 

Bishop  Blougram's  Apology    262 

Xleon 299 

Rudel  to  the  Lady  of  Tripoli 3' ' 

One  Wora  More ^'3 


J 
/ 

GENERAL   INDEX.  233 

Page 

VOL.    VI. 

In  a  Balcony i 

Dramatis  Personte  : — 39 

James  Lee's  Wife 41 

Gold  Hair  :  A  Story  of  Pomic  62 

The  Worst  of  it , 70 

Dis  aliter  Visum  ;  or,  Le  Byron  de  Nos  Jours 77 

Too  Late    85 

Abt  Vogler    92 

Rabbi  Ben  Ezra    99 

A  Death  in  the  Desert 110 

Caliban  upon  Setebos  ;  or,  Natural  Theology  in  the 

Island 136 

Confessions    148 

May  and  Death 150 

Deaf  and  Dumb  :  a  Group  by  Woolner    151 

Prospice 152 

Eurydice  to  Orpheus  :  a  picture  by  Leighton  153 

Youth  and  Art 154 

A  Face  - 158 

A  Likeness 159 

Mr.  Sludge,  "The  Medium"    162 

Apparent  Failure 219 

Epilogue - 222 


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